Bumps In the Road
by BrightfurOfThunderClan
Summary: Willowpelt, now mate of the former ThunderClan deputy Whitestorm, had a very...awkward love life, giving her two unexpected kits and a hard reputation. Find out what she went through before she got to be with her true love.
1. Lurking Shadows

"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here below the Highrock for a Clan meeting!"

Sunstar's yowl echoed throughout the camp. Willowpaw pricked her ears in interest. Could today be the day she had been dreaming of for so long?

The Clan gathered around the Highrock, gazing expectantly at the bright ginger tom. The ThunderClan leader meowed proudly, "Today, ThunderClan will receive two new warriors."

_Could one of those two be me?_

"Redpaw, Willowpaw, please step forward."

Willowpaw felt a nudge behind her. "Go on," her mentor and father, Adderfang whispered in her ear. Sparrowpelt, Redpaw's mentor, gave the young tortoiseshell the same order.

As Willowpaw padded alongside her brother, she saw her sister, Spottedpaw, sitting next to her mentor, Featherwhisker. The pretty dark-tortoiseshell's eyes were glowing.

She also saw her older brother and sister, Patchpelt and Leopardfoot, sitting not far from Spottedpaw. Willowpaw gazed thoughtfully at her beautiful sister. The young she-cat was training to be a warrior, her mentor being Thrushpelt, but she lost interest in the mysteries of a medicine cat, eventually leaving her warrior training and becoming Featherwhisker's apprentice.

Willowpaw swallowed once she and Redpaw had arrived in front of the Highrock, staring expectantly at Sunstar. The sun shone off the Clan leader's fur, making him shine with his authority and magnificence. He lifted his head upward and raised his voice. "I, Sunstar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on these two apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend them to you as warriors in their turn."

Returning his gaze to the warriors-to-be, he continued. "Redpaw, Willowpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your lives?"

"I do," Redpaw mewed enthusiastically.

"Of course!" Willowpaw mewed as well, then stiffening after realizing she probably should of said something else, "I-I mean-"

"Then by the powers of StarClan," Sunstar went on, apparently ignoring Willowpaw's word misusage, "I shall give you your warrior names. Redpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Redtail. StarClan honors bravery and enthusiasm, and welcomes you as a full warrior of ThunderClan. And Willowpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Willowpelt. StarClan honors your loyalty and calm determination, and welcomes you as a full warrior of ThunderClan."

"Redtail! Willowpelt! Redtail! Willowpelt!"

The Clan chanted the newly-named warriors' titles strongly and proudly. Willowpelt thought she would explode with pride.

_Willowpelt...it's perfect. Are you proud of me, Swiftbreeze?_

Swiftbreeze was the name of Willowpelt's dearly departed mother, who died two moons ago in a battle with RiverClan over Sunningrocks.

Redtail and Willowpelt soaked up all the praise from their Clanmates.

"Congratulations!"

"More warriors! About time."

"Your mother would be so proud."

Brindleface, a warrior for three moons, padded up to Redtail. "It's great you're a warrior now," she murmured, "But I think you deserve to be deputy, maybe even leader."

Redtail's green eyes widened with surprise, and his pelt started to prickle. Then he relaxed, as if Brindleface's very presence soothed him. "If I were to become leader," he replied, "when I had to pick the deputy, you'd be my first choice."

Brindleface purred and nuzzled Redtail, who returned the affection with a lick on the cheek.

Willowpelt couldn't help but purr. It was obvious there was something going on between her brother and the pretty gray tabby.

_It won't be long before we hear the pitter-patter of little paws._

Suddenly, Willowpelt felt a hot breath billowing on the back of her neck. Trembling with unease, she turned around let a tiny squeak of surprise when she was confronted by one of the elders and former deputy, Tawnyspots.

The scrawny, gray tabby tom with a lighter gray muzzle, amber eyes, and his signature tufted ears was a...unique elder. He wasn't too old, though he definitely wasn't the youngest cat in ThunderClan, but the reason he joined Larksong, Stonepelt, Poppydawn, Windflight, and Goosefeather in the elders' den was because of a strange, reoccurring disease that never could truly be cured. Right now, Tawnyspots was what Featherwhisker called "stable", which means moderately healthy, however over time, the nameless sickness seemed to mess with his mind.

Sometimes cats couldn't even understand what he was saying. His words would come out jumbled and distorted, as if he were trying to speak to a dog.

Willowpelt shrunk away a little when the elder's gaze burned into her. "Good you're a warrior now, eh, Willowpelt?" Tawnyspots rambled, "Though...rank doesn't matter, now does it?"

Fear pulsed through Willowpelt as the tabby tom leaned closer to her, their noses nearly touching. She tried to flee, but her paws stayed firmly in place, frozen in fear. "You can come visit me in the elders' den whenever you like," Tawnyspots continued, "Trust me, you'd be warmly welcomed. Hey, I've an idea! I could pick the ticks out of that gorgeous pale-gray pelt of yours, like you did to me. Won't that be fun?"

"Uh..." Willowpelt just stared at Tawnyspots. He was as mad as a badger! His pelt was prickling, and he was trembling with anticipation. That look that glinted in his crazed eyes...was that _lust_?

_But that would mean...EW!_

"Ahem," a voice muttered behind her, "Tawnyspots? It's time for your poppy seeds." It was Featherwhisker.

"Aw, really?" Tawnyspots replied, crestfallen, "No fair, Featherwhisker, you're always so mean to me. Haven't you heard of 'respect your elders'? Why can't you be more like Willowpelt? Me and her were about share tongues," he added, nuzzling the very pale-gray she-cat.

"Get away from me!" Willowpelt hissed, mortified.

"Don't try to resist me."

"Tawnyspots, please," Featherwhisker broke in, growing irritated, "You have to take your poppy seeds! Besides, Willowpelt has a vigil to keep. Now are you going to follow your medicine cat's orders, or will I have to shove the seeds down your throat?"

Tawnyspots blinked innocently at the medicine cat. "Meanie. You never let me have any fun, right Willowpelt?"

"Keep away from me, you creep!"

The tabby elder just let out a purr. Willowpelt's pelt was beginning to grow hot with anger. Would Tawnyspots just leave her alone? It's not like it's normal for a sick, elderly tom to act like that towards a young, lively she-cat.

_I don't care if he's an elder or the former deputy. He better not try anything funny!_

Sighing, Willowpelt joined Redtail and began the silent vigil.


	2. Tawnyspots's Dark Side

Willowpelt padded through the forest in a patrol, led by the deputy, Bluefur, with her apprentice, Runningpaw slinking close behind. Willowpelt gazed at the cat in front of her, the fourth member of the patrol: Bluefur's nephew, Whitestorm.

Whitestorm was perfect. He was strong, yet calm. Noble, yet modest. Daring, yet kind. Willowpelt had loved him ever since the day they had met when she first opened her eyes.

_That was the best day of my life._

She let her memory flow backwards to that wonderful day.

"Great, Willowkit, you're eyes opened!"

"How do you know my name?"

"'Cause we're denmates, of course! Name's Whitekit!"

"Oh...um...hi, Whitekit."

"Wanna play?"

"Sure!"

"Hey, Willowpelt!"

Whitestorm's voice snapped Willowpelt out of her thoughts. She blinked at the handsome warrior, not knowing how to reply to whatever he said.

"Didn't you hear me?" Whitestorm meowed, "I wanted you to see how huge my squirrel is. It was _so_ easy to catch. You should've seen it –it was too fat to run away."

Willowpelt just gaped at Whitestorm's eyes. They're amber depths were filled with intelligence, courage, loyalty, kindness...

"Hello?"

Again, Whitestorm had caught her drifting off in his presence. Willowpelt's ears were starting to grow hot with embarrassment. The cat that she had a crush on probably thought that she was a complete mouse-brain.

"Ahem, Whitestorm, Willowpelt?" Willowpelt stiffened with fear when she realized that Bluefur had caught on to their lagging.

The blue-gray deputy looked a little annoyed, but still amused at the way the younger warrior was acting towards her pale-pelted kin. "Why don't you to hunt by yourselves?" she suggested, her voice growing gentle, "I promised Runningpaw I'd assess his hunting skills, anyway."

The slender apprentice blinked at his mentor. "No, you didn't."

Bluefur gave Runningpaw a look, and then flicked her tail in an order for him to follow her. The blue-gray she-cat and young tabby tom crawled into the bushes, and their scents faded.

Willowpelt's very pale fur was rising at the awkward silence that stretched for what seemed like a moon as she stood there with Whitestorm. However, she partially thanked Bluefur and Runningpaw leaving them alone together.

_Maybe now I can tell Whitestorm how I feel about him._

"Say, Willowpelt?" Whitestorm prompted.

"Y-Yes?" Willowpelt stammered stupidly, her heart and mind racing.

"Where do you want to hunt?"

"Uh..." Willowpelt braced herself; she was going to tell him, "W-Whitestorm, there's something, uh, that I've wanted to tell you for...for quite some time..."

Whitestorm blinked. "Okay. What is it, Willowpelt?"

Willowpelt took a deep breath. She felt as if she had swallowed her tongue, making it impossible to speak. Finally she blurted, "I think over there would be a great place to hunt."

Whitestorm stared at her. "Uh...o-okay? I...I guess I'll hunt over there." Veering away from Willowpelt, Whitestorm dove into the brambles.

Willowpelt wanted to claw herself.

_Mouse-brain! Why did I even say that? He probably thinks I'm idiot. Great job, Willowpelt, great job._

Grumbling to herself, Willowpelt padded to a clear spot to hunt.

Shaking the memory of that very embarrassing moment, Willowpelt scanned the undergrowth for prey.

_There!_

A mouse sat on an oak root, busily nibbling on an acorn. Willowpelt crouched low to the ground, her blue eyes locked onto her target. Silently, she crept closer to the mouse. Bunching the muscles in her hind legs, she pounced, and snapped the tiny rodent's neck.

_Excellent!_

"Good catch."

Willowpelt whipped around at the sound at the deep voice. Tawnyspots was sitting not far from her, his eyes shining.

She faced the gray elder. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just wanted to see you," Tawnyspots purred, "I heard you were on hunting patrol, and I, well, wanted to see how well you can hunt. I guess _my_ hunting skills are pretty good, too, huh?"

Willowpelt flicked her tail. "Go back to camp, Tawnyspots," she ordered, "You're not as healthy as you think you are. You need an escort."

"Ah, I don't need any stupid escort," Tawnyspots replied, indifferent.

He started to circle Willowpelt.

"What I have planned for the two of us, my dear, has no room for an escort."

Willowpelt stepped back. What was this featherhead rambling about?

Tawnyspots stretched out a shaky paw, and revealed several tiny poppy seeds. "See these?" he meowed, "I stole them from Featherwhisker's supply. I want you to eat them."

_WHAT?_

Willowpelt stared, horrified, at Tawnyspots. He wanted her to eat poppy seeds when she didn't need them at all? She wasn't hurting, so the other reason for taking poppy seeds was for sleeplessness.

Realization hit her like a monster. Tawnyspots wanted to send her into unconsciousness.

_He's not going to...is he?_

"I'm not eating them," the pale-gray warrior retorted strongly.

"What did you say?"

"I'm not eating them."

"Too bad," the elder growled, "You're taking them whether you like them or not. Come here!"

Tawnyspots, despite his weakness, lunged for Willowpelt. The pale-gray she-cat dodged the elder's attack.

"Willowpelt," Tawnyspots murmured, his voice trembling, "I love you. I love you. I've always loved you. I need the feel of your fur rubbing against mine. I need the rasp of your tongue on my neck fur. I need your love, Willowpelt. Give it! I can't live without it! _Give it to me!_"

"Never!" Willowpelt snarled.

"Be my mate! Have my kits!"

"No! Why should I? I don't love you, Tawnyspots. You...you _sick_ cat! You disgusting vermin! I'm going to report you to Sunstar!"

"Sunstar can't stop me now!" Tawnyspots yowled, his voice squeaking like a kit's.

Tawnyspots bowled into Willowpelt, knocking her over. He pressed his paw with the poppy seeds to her muzzle. Willowpelt's heart pounded.

She was trapped.

She was doomed.

_StarClan, save me!_

"Swallow them," Tawnyspots whispered.

Willowpelt writhed under him, trying to break free.

"Swallow them!" he repeated, yowling.

More writhing, until the seeds slipped into Willowpelt's mouth, and slithered down her throat. She could instantly feel their soothing powers.

_No...must stay awake...must.._

Tawnyspots licked Willowpelt's cheek. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he purred, his voice dripping with lust and honey.

_Don't...no..._

"You're mine now, Willowpelt. Our love will last forever."

Then, the helpless, pale-furred she-cat fell into an unstoppable sleep.


	3. The News Comes Out

"I'm _what?_"

Willowpelt stared at her sister, now named Spottedleaf. It had been several days since Tawnyspot's lusty attack on her. Bluefur, Runningpaw, and Whitestorm had found her, unconscious and alone, in the clear spot. Tawnyspots had escaped before he could be discovered.

"Expecting kits," Spottedleaf repeated herself, staring at Willowpelt, "A little early isn't it? I mean, you and Redtail _just_ became warriors," her voice then lowered, and her pretty eyes sparked with mischief, "You little vixen. I knew there was something going on between you and Whitestorm. I just knew it!"

Willowpelt's heart ached.

_It's not Whitestorm who's the father. But I know who it is. There's only one suspect to this crime._

The pale-gray queen rose to her paws, and started for the exit of the medicine den.

"Where are you going?" Spottedleaf called.

"To settle some scores," Willowpelt growled in reply.

She halted at the center of camp. She looked around.

_Good. Everyone's here. Soon they'll all know of his dark side._

"Attention!" she yowled, "Everyone, may I have your attention?"

"Huh?"

"What's going on?"

"What does Willowpelt want?"

"I know I probably don't have the authority to address you all-"

"No, you don't."

Sunstar loomed over her, his green eyes narrowed.

"Please, Sunstar," Willowpelt begged the ThunderClan leader, "This is important. There's something I know that the Clan must know."

Sunstar stared at her for a few more heartbeats, and then muttered, "All right, Willowpelt. Go ahead."

Willowpelt dipped her head gratefully to Sunstar, and then addressed the Clan.

"I've just been to the medicine den. I'm expecting kits. But before you start congratulating me, there's something you all must know. It's the father of the kits."

"Who is it?" a cat called from the back of the crowd.

Willowpelt pointed her towards Tawnyspots. "_Him._" She growled.

All eyes were cast on Tawnyspots. The gray elder stood up. "What do you expect? Willowpelt and I are in love. We were going to have kits eventually."

"No, Tawnyspots, we are _not_ in love," Willowpelt growled at her "mate", "I never wanted to be your mate. Don't you see? I'm much younger than you. And not only that, but you stole poppy seeds from Featherwhisker and Spottedleaf's storage, and you used them to knock me out. And do you know what you did once I fell unconscious? I'll tell you. You mated with me. And now, I'm pregnant, and it's all your fault."

Yowls of anger and disgust were being thrown at Tawnyspots after Willowpelt had finished her rant.

"Filth!"

"How could you?"

"You're disgusting! Exile him!"

"Kill him!"

"A cat like _him_ doesn't belong in this Clan!"

"Wait! Wait!" Tawnyspots yowled above the clamor, "Don't just give up on me now. I...I know what I did, and, frankly, I don't regret it. I love Willowpelt, and nothing can change that."

Willowpelt bared her teeth. "You're a crow-food-eating, piece of fox-dung; do you know that, Tawnyspots? No matter what happens, these kits will _never_ have a father. Never!"

"Never..." Tawnyspots echoed, he then growled, "You heartless fool! I love you, and you can't learn to accept that? I wanted you to give me kits before I joined StarClan, and I'm going to get them, but you won't let me near them? In that case, I don't want kits or a mate anymore? You don't want to be a queen anymore? Fine. I'll just rip the lives we created out of you!"

Tawnyspots slammed through the crowd, somehow getting a brute strength. Willowpelt charged in his direction. Rage pulsed through her, reaching to her fully-extending claws. Blinded by the rage, she slashed a barrage of blows at the tom that had impregnated her.

Suddenly, Tawnyspots fell to the ground, blood pouring from a gash in his throat. Willowpelt stared at the heap of fur. The gray tabby elder convulsed, his blood spilling staining the ground.

Then, he fell still.

_He's...he's dead._

She had killed him.

Her mind racing, she hadn't noticed Sunstar padding to her side.

"Willowpelt?"

"I..." the pale queen mumbled, "I-I didn't want to kill him. I don't know what I was doing, seriously. I hated him, and got angry, but I didn't want to kill him. At least exiled. But I guess I'm going to be the exile one, aren't I?"

"You've been through a lot," Sunstar replied, "I understand. I won't exile you. I'm afraid the pregnancy can't be reversed, though. What are you going to tell the kit when they ask who their father is?"

Willowpelt hesitated, then meowed, "I'm going to tell them that he died before they were born, and that would the truth. But who he is will stay a secret."

Sunstar nodded, and then sat down next to his first deputy.

The crowd parted, obviously going to give Willowpelt some alone time.

_Can this day get any worse?_

Suddenly, Whitestorm left from the rest of the crowd and stood in front of Willowpelt. He looked down at his paws. "I...I guess this is a congratulations, Willowpelt, though I don't think this is a time for congratulations. I just want you to know: I hope you have wonderful kits."

The white warrior turned away, and headed for the warriors' den. Willowpelt felt like wailing like the kits she was going to have as she gazed at him.

_Oh, Whitestorm...why can't you be the father? Then this whole mess wouldn't have happened!_


	4. The First Accidental Creation

Willowpelt dug her claws into the moss of he bedding, cursing under her breath. Her contractions had just started.

Goldenflower rasped her tongue between Willowpelt's ears. "It's all right. Featherwhisker and Spottedleaf will be here soon."

The pale-ginger she-cat had decided to stay in the nursery to help Willowpelt with supporting her kits. She didn't have any kits of her own yet, but she wanted them, and kitsitting her denmate's litter would be great practice.

"That's right," added Brindleface, who had also decided to move into the nursery to help Willowpelt, "It'll be all over soon. By the end of the day, you'll have a beautiful litter at your belly."

Goldenflower's narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, and with a hesitate tone, she meowed, "Do...Do you think any of them will look like Tawnyspots?"

"Does it matter?" Willowpelt snapped, "He's dead. I don't have to worry about. Sure, I'll think of him if I look at a similar-looking kit, but I wouldn't dare name it Tawnykit or Spottedkit. I...I just want this nightmare to be over."

"Oh, Willowpelt," Brindleface murmured, "Kits are beautiful things. It shouldn't be a nightmare to have them."

"It's not that!" the laboring queen retorted, "It's just that I didn't want to have kits...not yet. And _his_ kits, for StarClan's sake! If he hadn't had that stupid sickness and just laze around like a normal elder, I could be on patrol with Redtail and Whitestorm!"

Goldenflower and Brindleface said nothing, just gave each other a swift, surprised glance.

Another spasm gripped Willowpelt. She felt like she was going to be sick.

_Oh, StarClan, why me?_

"Willowpelt!"

The pale-gray queen recognized the concerned mew of Spottedleaf. Her tortoiseshell-and-white sister ran up to her, sticking her gentle muzzle in her face. "Are you okay?"

"Never better," Willowpelt hissed sarcastically, "It's not that it hurts to give birth. Oh, certainly not."

"All right, that's enough," Featherwhisker meowed, pushing past his apprentice and sitting beside Willowpelt, "We've got some warriors to bring into the world."

_Tawnyspots, I hope to you're happy._

Another, even stronger spasm twisted at Willowpelt's insides.

_Oh, Swiftbreeze, wherever you are, help me!_

Suddenly, a shape started to fade into the nursery. Willowpelt instantly recognized the brown tabby-and-white coat and yellow eyes of her mother, Swiftbreeze.

"_You're doing wonderfully, my precious daughter. You're going to be fine."_

Silently thanking her mother for coming, Willowpelt made the first push, letting out a little squeak of pain.

"Good one," Spottedleaf purred, "Though it was a little early."

"_Early"?_

"She means your timing was off," Featherwhisker explained, reading the very pale queen's thoughts, "You're supposed to push whenever I feel your muscles ripple under my paw."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" Willowpelt snapped.

The medicine cat's amber gaze softened with sympathy, "I'll tell you when."

A ripple passed through Willowpelt's abdomen. She let out a high-pitched yowl.

"Now!" Featherwhisker ordered.

Willowpelt bunched the muscles in her hindquarters, sucking air with shallow, forceful breaths.

"Try taking deep, easy breaths," Spottedleaf whispered in her sister's ear.

"_It'll help with the pains,_" Swiftbreeze added, _"Trust me._"

Willowpelt followed instructions, and took easy breaths. Instantly she could feel herself relaxing, but not by a lot.

Yet another spasm came.

_Come on, kit, hurry up!_

"Nearly there," Featherwhisker murmured, "Just give it one big push."

Willowpelt clenched her teeth and she obeyed the pale-silver medicine cat's orders. She could feel a sizzling sensation near her tail.

_It hurts!_

"I can see it!" Spottedleaf exclaimed, "Hang in there, Willowpelt, you're almost done!"

Continuing to give pushes the size of StarClan, she thought she would fall into darkness. She really didn't think she could live through this pain.

Finally, she felt the pain slowly fade away as she felt a wet and slick bundle slide out onto the moss. Willowpelt gaped at the tiny bundle.

_Is that...really my kit?_

Spottedleaf leaned forward and nipped the bundle's sac, making a kit tumble out.

"A tom!" she squeaked, "Willowpelt, you have a son! Congratulations!"

"_Yes, congratulations,_" Swiftbreeze purred. Willowpelt felt her tongue rasp her cheek before she faded away.

_Thank you, Swiftbreeze._

As Spottedleaf warmed the sturdy body with her tongue, Featherwhisker pressed his soft paw to the new mother's belly.

"How many kits are left?" Willowpelt asked the tom.

"That's it," he replied, "There was only this little tom in there."

Willowpelt gazed lovingly at the newest member of ThunderClan. He was sleek and dark-gray with some distinctive silver-colored stripes.

"Hello, little one," she whispered, "I'm Willowpelt, your mother."

Suddenly, a voice, definitely not Swiftbreeze's echoed in Willowpelt's head.

_A dark shadow hangs over that kit. His life will be filled with shattered loyalty and hatred. The danger that will come to him can't be stopped._

Willowpelt's stomach lurched. Who _was_ that? She shook her head. It was ridiculous. How could this innocent newborn have "a dark shadow hanging over it"?

"What are you going to call him?"

Willowpelt realized that Brindleface, Goldenflower, and Spottedleaf were staring at her. The pale-gray hesitated to think of a name for her son before she answered, "His name will be Darkkit, after his dark-gray fur."

_And that dark shadow that's apparently hanging over him._

"How cute," Spottedleaf purred, "Hi there, little Darkkit."

Willowpelt closed her eyes. She pictured Darkkit as a brave and noble warrior of ThunderClan, the well-developed muscles rippling under his pelt, and his eyes shining with triumph.

Though at the sight of his strength, Willowpelt couldn't help but replay that ominous omen about her son.

_What could it even mean? _

She wrapped her slender tail around Darkkit.

_You're not evil, and you never will be._

"Hold still, Darkkit!"

The silver-striped tom kept wriggling away from Willowpelt's tongue as she tried to groom him.

"I look fine!" he protested, "Really!"

"Your pelt's covered in dirt," Willowpelt scolded her stubborn son, "How can you go to your apprentice ceremony looking like that?"

Darkkit shrugged. "Does it really matter? I mean, I'll be scuffling in the sandy hollow with my mentor anyway."

"It's not scuffling," Willowpelt retorted, "its battle training. And yes, Darkkit, it does matter if your pelt's clean or not. It's called making a first impression. You want to impress your mentor, don't you?"

Darkkit's dark-green eyes shone. "Of course! I sure hope my mentor's Tigerclaw or Thistleclaw. There such strong warriors! I want to be just like them when I finish my training!"

Willowpelt let out a purr. "You'll be a great warrior. Strong and noble and loyal to your Clan to the end."

"You know what?" Darkkit mewed, "You're right, Willowpelt. I'll never leave ThunderClan. Never! I'll be the warrior that my father would've wanted me to be."

Willowpelt's heart ached with regret. Not long after Darkkit had opened his eyes, he had asked her about his father and who he was. Willowpelt had told him that he had died in battle before he was born, just as she said she would on the day Tawnyspots died.

"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!"

Bluestar, now the leader of ThunderClan after Sunstar's death, addressed her Clan with the given strength and authority of a leader.

The whole of ThunderClan gathered at the Highrock, with Darkkit padding, tail high, in front of Willowpelt.

Bluestar's voice rang through the crowd as she addressed the next ThunderClan apprentice. "Darkkit, you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day, until you have received your warrior name you will be known Darkpaw. I ask StarClan to watch over you, and guide you until find in your paws the strength and courage of a warrior."

She turned her gaze to a muscular, dark-brown tabby tom. "Tigerclaw, you are ready for your first apprentice. You had received excellent training from Thistleclaw, and you have shown yourself to be fierce and brave. You will be Darkpaw's mentor, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him."

Tigerclaw rose to his paws and touched noses with Darkpaw. The new apprentice's striped pelt prickled, and his eyes shimmered like a star.

"Darkpaw! Darkpaw!"

The Clan, especially Willowpelt, chanted the dark-colored apprentice's name strongly. Willowpelt's heart swelled with pride in her son.

_Be proud of him, Tawnyspots. This is what you wanted._

Suddenly, the ominous words that she'd heard at Darkpaw's birth rang in her ears once again, though with a slightly different wording.

_A hungry tiger prowls in the dark shadow that hangs over that apprentice. His life will be filled with shattered loyalty and hatred. The danger that will come to him can't be stopped._

Willowpelt's heart thudded. Could _Tigerclaw_ have something to do with that horrible warning?


	5. More Than Brotherly Love

Willowpelt padded through the forest, relishing the gentle, greenleaf-night warmth. It had been moons since her son became an apprentice. Darkpaw was now Darkstripe, and he had an apprentice of his own, Longpaw, son of Patchpelt and Robinwing.

At times, when Willowpelt would glance at her son with his former mentor and now good friend, Tigerclaw, the ominous words would echo in her ears. At first, she would ignore it, but now...

_He's...changed since he started his training._

Darkstripe was no longer the open, enthusiastic young tom he once was. Now, he was more distant, and he had a more cold air about him.

"Hey, Willowpelt!"

The gray warrior instantly recognized the voice of her only living older sibling, Patchpelt. Leopardfoot had died in a battle with ShadowClan at the border. Willowpelt had always looked up to her, and missed her dearly.

She met up with Patchpelt and addressed him with a friendly nod, and then she stared at him. Now that she got closer, she noticed things about him that she hadn't noticed before. His black-and-white pelt was duller than usual, and his amber eyes weren't as bright as they once were.

_He's aging. I bet he'll be joining Smallear, Halftail, One-eye, Poppydawn, and Dappletail in the elders' den soon._

"I want to show you something," the older tom meowed.

"All right," Willowpelt replied her brother, "Lead the way."

Willowpelt followed Patchpelt to a spot near Tallpines. The black-patched warrior pointed with his tail to a patch of plants with smooth, round-edged leaves and tall, purple flowers.

Willowpelt's claws itched as the herb's tempting scent flitted onto her scent glands. She knew exactly what they were.

_Catmint!_

"Isn't it weird?" Patchpelt murmured, gazing intently at the flowers, "Catmint usually grows much closer to Twolegplace. I wonder how some it grew here?" he returned his gaze to Willowpelt, "We should take some back to camp with us, and give it to Featherwhisker and Spottedleaf. They'd probably find some good use out of it."

Willowpelt nodded in agreement. She lowered her head to pick some up, but halted as Patchpelt continued, more mischievously, "Of course, we could just have some for ourselves," he pulled some out with his paw, and pushed the stalks towards his sister, "Here, Willowpelt. You can have the first bite."

Willowpelt froze with fear. This was too much like the time when Tawnyspots made her eat poppy seeds and then mated with her, so many moons ago. She flicked her tail. This was different. Patchpelt was giving her a friendly offering out of brotherly love, not giving them to her by force.

_Besides, Patchpelt's my brother. How could he have Tawnyspots's desires?_

Still, she couldn't help but feel defensive.

"No thanks, Patchpelt," she meowed soberly, "I don't want any. I'm not too keen about the rush that stuff's supposed to give you."

Patchpelt shrugged. "Suit yourself," he meowed before taking a bite out of the plant.

Rising to her paws, Willowpelt started back towards camp.

It seemed like moons before Willowpelt ended up at the sandy hollow. She stared at the vacant place, and wondered when she would be there with an apprentice of her own.

Suddenly, the bushes resulted behind her, and a smooth, yet shaky voice rumbled behind her.

"Hey there, Willowpelt, beautiful night, huh?"

Willowpelt turned around to come face-to-face with Patchpelt. "Uh, yeah, Patchpelt," Willowpelt replied, "You know, you could've said that earlier."

Then her blue eyes widened as she got a better look at her older brother. He staggered and weaved, as if his legs were about to give out, and his pupils were dilated.

_He's experiencing the after-effects of the catmint!_

Patchpelt staggered forward and brushed his pelt against Willowpelt's. "Though, the night isn't the only beautiful thing tonight," he purred drunkenly, "_You_, Willowpelt, are more beautiful than a s-swath of Silverpelts..."

The gray she-cat broke away from her brother's smooth, almost seductive movements. Patchpelt continued to gaze stupidly at her. "Have I ever told you, W-Willowpelt, how beautiful you are? I think you're the 'beatifulest' she-cat in ThunderClan."

"Now, hold on," Willowpelt stood up to her blurry-minded kin, "What about Goldenflower? I've seen the looks she gives you. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Patchpelt blinked in surprised. "Goldenflower likes me? Oh well, it doesn't matter. Right now, it's just you and me, Willowpelt."

Willowpelt stared at him, frightened. She knew exactly what he had in mind.

"Don't be a mouse-brain!" she shrieked, "I'm your _sister_!"

"All the more reason for me to love you."

Patchpelt made the hunter's crouch and flicked his tail. His playful amber gaze burned into Willowpelt's pelt. He leaped forward, his jaws aiming for her scruff.

Willowpelt bolted away. She didn't want to be seduced by her own brother. That would be much worse than being force-mated by a crazed elder.

She veered in so many directions in an attempt to get away. Her heart pounded out of fear of running in hopeless circles.

Eventually, Willowpelt halted at the river that bordered ThunderClan with RiverClan. She looked around for a place to hide for the rest of the night.

_There!_

Her gaze rested on a crevice in the Sunningrocks. Hasty with desperateness, she squeezed into the gap. But it was use.

"Aha! Found you, silly fool!"

Patchpelt had her cornered.

_Maybe not._

As the black-and-white tom drew closer, Willowpelt unsheathed her claws and swiped at his muzzle.

He fell backwards, and the gray she-cat started to flee yet again.

Suddenly, Willowpelt's legs gave out from under her and Patchpelt's weight fell on her shoulders.

_Oh no! It's the whole Tawnyspots problem all over again!_

Giving up, she braced herself for the courtship that she couldn't escape.


	6. The Second Accidental Creation

"Is it almost over?" Willowpelt mewled pitifully.

"Almost," Spottedleaf replied, stroking her tabby-striped tail over her sister' flank.

After Willowpelt's very unfortunate experience with Patchpelt, Spottedleaf had told her that she, yet again, was expecting kits against her own free will. When would she be able to raise kits when she knew was ready?

Now, she was in labor with her second litter of kits. This pregnancy was quite similar to the one with Darkstripe, so Featherwhisker had predicted that she would have a one-kit litter again.

Also, the contractions were slightly easier and the delivery was going much quicker than the last one. The medicine cat had told that since her body knew what was happening, it was "much more prepared".

_If it's much more prepared, then why does it still hurt?_

Another spasm gripped Willowpelt, and she clenched her teeth as she pushed in assistance to it. The pain suddenly increased, just as it did before Darkstripe came out.

"Are the kits here yet?"

"Ow! Sandkit, you're stepping on my tail!"

"Sor-ree, Dustkit."

A pale-ginger she-kit and a dark-brown tabby tom kit broke into the trauma.

Sandkit, the pale-ginger one, was the daughter of Redtail and Brindleface, making her Willowpelt's niece. Dustkit, the dark-brown one, was one of the sons of Fuzzypelt and Robinwing, making him the younger brother of Brindleface, and half-brother of Longpaw.

"Hey, Ravenkit!" Dustkit called to his brother, "Wanna come see the kits being born?"

"Uh...n-no," Ravenkit replied, "It's...a little bloody. I-I better not." The tiny black tom shifted closer to Robinwing.

"Off with you two!" Brindleface snapped at her daughter and brother, "Leave Willowpelt to her peace. You'll be able to see the kits when they arrive."

Crestfallen, the two kits slumped away from the laboring queen.

Willowpelt shuddered with relief when she felt a tiny bundle slide out of her. Her second kit had arrived. Featherwhisker nipped the kitting sac, and proudly announced, "A tom! And a strong one, Willowpelt."

Concern welled up inside of the very pale she-cat. "Are you sure?"

"Certainly," Spottedleaf replied, "Despite his...awkward heritage, he seems perfectly fine. He's a healthy one, just like Darkstripe was."

Willowpelt blinked gratefully at her sister and Featherwhisker placed the newborn tom kit at Willowpelt's belly. He was gray, with long fur and a distinctive darker stripe down his back. The familiar love and sense of protection returned to her as he began to suckle.

"A kit's here! A kit's here!" Sandkit squeaked from behind her mother. She stared at her new denmate, and then looked up at Featherwhisker.

"Where're his littermates?" she asked.

Featherwhisker placed his paw on Willowpelt's flank, and the replied, "There aren't any. He's a lone newborn. Just like his half-brother."

Sandkit nodded to the medicine cat. "Oh, okay," she looked over her shoulder, "Hey, Dustkit, Ravenkit, come and meet our new friend!"

Robinwing's two youngest kits climbed over their older sister and followed Sandkit to Willowpelt's new kit. Ravenkit's green eyes lit up at the sight of the newborn, and Dustkit prodded him with a tiny paw.

Sandkit stuck out her chest. "His mother's my father's sister," she announced proudly, "So that makes him my kin," she looked up at Willowpelt, "What're you gonna call him?"

Willowpelt gave her new son a long look, and then answered her niece, "His name is Graykit. You can probably guess why."

"Hiya, Graykit!" Sandkit purred to her new cousin, "I'm Sandkit, and this Dustkit and Ravenkit. We're gonna be great friends!"

Willowpelt beamed. She was happy that Graykit would have friends to play with. When Darkstripe was born, he was only kit in the nursery, and had no one to play with.

_Consider yourself lucky, Graykit._

A sudden breeze rustled the brambles of the nursery. Willowpelt stiffened as a voice whispered in her ears.

_That kit's life will have its ups and downs. He will show unintentional disloyalty, but will also bring with him a warrior with a heart of fire._

Willowpelt wanted to groan. Another message? At least this didn't seem as bad as the one about Darkstripe. Though there was one part of the message that made Willowpelt's mind buzz with wonder.

It mentioned Graykit one day bringing a warrior with a heart of fire.

_Who's that?_

"Willowpelt! Willowpelt!"

`Willowpelt heard the excited squeak of Graykit, now Graypaw, apprentice of Lionheart. She sat up from sharing tongues with Spottedleaf, who returned the medicine cat's den, now the sole medicine cat after Featherwhisker's death.

"Yes, Graypaw?" she prompted, "What is it?"

The long-haired tom bounced over to her side. "You won't believe what happened tonight!"

"What happened?"

"Well, I was out exploring the territory, when I picked up at scent," he sniffed as he did before, and then lowered his voice dramatically, "And it wasn't ThunderClan."

Willowpelt stiffened. "It wasn't ShadowClan, was it? Or RiverClan?"

"Nope. Kittypet."

"Kittypet?" Willowpelt echoed, and then she shrugged, "Figures. Those Twoleg-toys are always sneaking around in the territory."

"Well, this kittypet was different."

"Different?"

"Uh-huh. I jumped out of the bushes and chased him, and he started to head for his home, just as the kittypets are supposed to do when they see us, but you'll never believe what he did next?"

Willowpelt pricked her ears in interest. "What did he do?"

"He turned around and faced me!"

Willowpelt couldn't believe her ears. "Faced you?" she echoed, "As in returning the attack? Are you sure it was a kittypet?"

Graypaw nodded. "Unless warriors are wearing collars and carrying Twoleg scent, it was a kittypet."

Willowpelt gazed ahead thoughtfully.

_A kittypet returning an attack? That's unheard of._

"So, anyway," Graypaw broke into Willowpelt's thoughts, "This kittypet was actually a pretty good fighter for a kittypet. And not only that, but it turns out that Bluestar and Lionheart say us, and were impressed with the kittypet's strength and bravery. And guess what Bluestar did next? She asked the kittypet to join the Clan! Isn't that crazy?"

Willowpelt stared stupidly at her son. Bluestar actually asked a _kittypet_ to join ThunderClan?

"He –the kittypet– had flame-colored fur and green eyes," Graypaw continued, "His name was...oh, mouse-dung, what was it...? Oh, yeah! Rusty! His name was Rusty!"

"Rusty, huh?" Willowpelt murmured thoughtfully, the she shook her head, "Why would Bluestar let this kittypet, Rusty, join ThunderClan?"

"Well," Graypaw sat down, "Apparently having me, Dustpaw, Sandpaw, and Ravenpaw as the only apprentices in the Clan isn't enough," he then ran a soft paw over his ear, "I guess now I'll have to get used to calling him Rustypaw!"

Willowpelt chuckled. "Yes."

"It's getting late," Graypaw remarked, obviously done with his kittypet story, "I better hit the moss. Goodnight, Willowpelt!"

"Goodnight, Graypaw."

Willowpelt watched as her gray son slipped into the apprentices' den. She narrowed her blue eyes, deep in thought.

_Graypaw mentioned the kittypet being flame-colored, and that he really wanted him to join ThunderClan..._

Then it dawned on her.

_The message! It mentioned him bringing a warrior with a heart of fire! Could that be Rusty?_


	7. The Next Generation

Willowpelt crouched near the fresh-kill pile, devouring a sparrow, when the usual hushed chatter of the Clan went silent as the stars. All eyes were directed to the camp entrance.

_What's going on?_

Willowpelt followed her Clanmates' gazes to the gorse tunnel. Tigerclaw, now the deputy of ThunderClan, stepped out, his long claws making scars in the ground, and his amber eyes piercing with disgust.

Behind him, Graystripe, a warrior for nine moons, stepped forward, his head and tail low and eyes dull with grief. Willowpelt had never seen her son so upset. Had Tigerclaw scolded him for something?

A shocked murmur erupted from the Clan as Fireheart and Cinderpaw, the medicine cat's apprentice, entered. Hanging from their jaws, were two tiny kits.

Curiousity taking its toll on her, Willowpelt ran to Graystripe's side. "Graystripe," she whispered, "Fireheart and Cinderpaw have kits with them."

Graystripe didn't take his eyes off his paws. "Yes. _My_ kits."

Willowpelt gazed, shocked, at Graystripe.

His_ kits? When did he take on a mate?_

"Who...who's the mother?"

"Silverstream," the gray tom replied, his voice cracked with pain, "She was a...RiverClan warrior."

"RiverClan?" Willowpelt heard Darkstripe's scornful hiss from behind her. Her oldest pushed through the crowd and confronted his half-brother.

"You mean those kits are halfClan?" he snarled.

Graystripe met Darkstripe's cold green gaze despite his dampened spirit. "Yes. I know I did a very wrong thing, but I loved their mother. And it's my fault that she...she..."

"She what?" Darkstripe growled. He obviously wanted the gray warrior to suffer.

"Died."

_Oh, no...the poor thing._

"Yes," Tigerclaw growled, "And it's because of Graystripe that Silverstream, daughter of Crookedstar, is dead," he whipped his broad head to face the younger warrior, "What have you got to say for yourself?"

Graystripe shrunk back, his eyes growing misty with grief and tinge of fear. His usual determination was gone now, replaced by a meekness that could only be caused by the loss of a loved one. He didn't look like a brave warrior, more like a helpless kit.

"Forget Silverstream!" the deputy spat in the grieving tom's face, "_You're_ the one who's better off dead, you gutless traitor!"

Tigerclaw's words were like an adder's poison. Graystripe looked even worse, almost looking like he was going to be sick.

Willowpelt stiffened when she saw Fireheart's claws sink into the ground, and his green eyes glare at the dark tabby.

"That's enough!"

Bluestar yowled over Tigerclaw's accusations. The blue-gray she-cat stepped forward and faced her deputy.

"Sheath your claws, Tigerclaw," she ordered sternly, "Can't you see Graystripe's been through enough already?"

"But he mated with a _RiverClan_ cat!" Tigerclaw protested, "No noble ThunderClan warrior would do such a traitorous thing!"

Willowpelt waited for Bluestar to answer. She just stared blankly ahead, as if delving into some horrible memory of her youth.

The strength and authority returned to her ice-blue eyes, as she replied, "Graystripe did do the wrong thing, and he will be punished eventually, but not now," she gave Graystripe a sympathetic yet serious look, "He will learn from his mistakes, I'm sure. He did not become Silverstream's mate to revolt. He is not the cat to do so. His kits will be raised as ThunderClan cats and will be assets to the Clan."

Willowpelt narrowed her eyes at Bluestar. There was a conviction in her voice that didn't seem to come from basic leader authority. She sounded as if she could easily put herself into Graystripe's place.

_It's probably nothing. I can't picture Bluestar bearing halfClan kits._

Besides, she already had kits with a tom named Thrushpelt. Unfortunately, they had died before they had even reached their first moon. They were assumed to be taken by a fox or a badger in the middle of the night.

Bluestar gave Tigerclaw a stern look before addressing her Clan. "You all have heard my opinion. I'm not going to let this shock turn into a complete fiasco. Now, everyone, return to your duties."

Murmuring indistinctively, the group parted and returned to where they were before the shock of Graystripe's news.

Tigerclaw gave Graystripe one last spit before joining Darkstripe and Longtail. Cinderpaw handed her kit, a silver-gray tabby, to Graystripe before limping into the medicine cat's den.

Willowpelt couldn't help but let her pelt prickle with curiosity. She pitied these motherless kits; she had already seen kits grow up with only one parent: Darkstripe and Graystripe. Tawnyspots was dead, and Patchpelt never truly accepted Graystripe as his son because of his awkward heritage.

At the thought of the black-and-white tom, Patchpelt, now an elder, stepped beside her.

His breath stirred Willowpelt's ear fur as he whispered, "I know exactly what you're thinking. Those two are _not_ my direct kin. I'm only taking them as my kin because they are the kits of my sister's son. I only have two sons, Longtail and Swiftpaw, not Graystripe."

Without giving the very pale warrior a chance to reply, Patchpelt turned away and returned to his fellow elders.

Shaking off her brother's indifference, Willowpelt padded to the bramble walls of the nursery and peeked in.

Fireheart and Graystripe were standing over Goldenflower. Goldenflower's mother, Speckletail was sitting near the wall, giving Graystripe cold looks. Brindleface and Frostfur sat near the other side of the nursery, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices.

"Please, Goldenflower," Graystripe was begging the pale-ginger queen, "You have to suckle these kits. They're all I have left of their mother."

Goldenflower looked away. "Take them to a RiverClan queen to suckle. HalfClan kits usually grow up in their mother's Clan, anyway."

"No!" Graystripe retorted hastily, "I can't! I won't! I couldn't bear to watch them grow up in another Clan."

"You should've thought of that before you mated with a RiverClan cat," Speckletail snapped, her pale tabby pelt bristling.

Fireheart faced the oldest queen. "What's past is past. I know Graystripe'll learn from his mistakes, like Bluestar said. We have to focus on the future of these kits, not the past mistakes of their parents. Now, would you quit being fox-hearts and help them?"

Speckletail seemed to ignore her flame-colored Clanmate. "So much pure blood drainage in ThunderClan, these days. HalfClans and kittypets...," she turned her gaze to Graystripe, "It's not surprising that many of them were born because of an _accident_."

Graystripe's amber eyes burned with rage. "Don't you _dare_ talk about my son and daughter like that! You're going to have to call _me_ an accident before you call them ones!"

Willowpelt dug her claws into the ground at Speckletail's reply:

"Who knows if I haven't already?"

Rage burned in Willowpelt's pale-gray pelt. She had trusted the queens to keep their mouths shut about the secret of Graystripe's father, which not even he knew about it. She was not going to let Speckletail give away the truth, nor let her grandkits be abandoned because of their heritage!

"Now, hold on just a minute!" she interrupted the dispute, barging into the nursery, "I will not let any of you call my son and his kits accidents, and I won't let his kits be neglected!"

"This isn't your business, Willowpelt," Speckletail meowed crossly.

"Shut up, you old fleabag!" the pale-gray she-cat retorted, rage making her forget her manners, "This _is_ my business!"

Speckletail's kits, one white and the other a brown tabby, cowered behind their mother, gazing fearfully up at Willowpelt.

The pale-gray warrior wrapped her tail around the gray newborns, who were now squeaking pitifully in a desperate attempt to get fed. "These kits are my kin, and I will not let any kin of mine be neglected just because they are halfClan," she faced Goldenflower, "So stop being an idiot, and, for StarClan's sakes, help them!"

Goldenflower just glared her amber eyes at Willowpelt, clearly unconvinced.

Willowpelt met the stubborn she-cat's gaze. "Don't forget that their father's father," she pointed at Goldenflower's two kits with her tail, "left the Clan to be a kittypet, and it was your brother who kept his mouth shut about it. Not to mention Graystripe's kits are the half-niece and half-nephew of your oldest son."

Goldenflower looked away once more.

Willowpelt let herself relax, and her voice and gaze soften. "Come on, Goldenflower," she meowed, "Don't pretend you don't care."

Goldenflower looked down at her paws. "I...I do care."

"That sounds more like the Goldenflower I know," Willowpelt purred, "If you're worried about the Clan being angry at you for nursing halfClan kits that aren't your own, forget about it. You'd be doing the right thing, and that's all that matters. You wouldn't let Bramblekit, Tawnykit, or Swiftpaw starve to death, would you?"

Goldenflower's head shot up. "Never!"

"Then use your head, and do the right thing. Help these kits."

The orange she-cat stared thoughtfully at Graystripe's kits, and then nodded, and brushed the kits towards her teats with her tail.

Satisfaction and love surged through Willowpelt as she watched the two newborns suckle. It was like having a firstborn all over again.

She felt something nudge her shoulder. Graystripe was beckoning her outside with his thick, gray tail.

The two gray warriors sat outside the nursery. Willowpelt wrapped her tail around her paws. Graystripe gazed at her the same way he did as a kit, all those moons ago.

"Thank you," he meowed, "for what you did back there. If it wasn't for you, my kits would probably..."

Willowpelt nuzzled her son's cheek. She would do anything to relieve his pain. "You're quite welcome," she soothed, "It's like I said, no kin of mine is going to be neglected just because of their heritage. There is absolutely no right to blame those newborns for their bloodline. They haven't done anything wrong."

"I'm so glad you understand," Graystripe mewed with gratitude ringing in his voice, "Fireheart understands too, and poor Cinderpaw...she blames herself for Silverstream's death. She says she was too stupid to save her. She was just...unprepared, that's all."

Willowpelt decided to get on her stern, maternal side. "Now, you do understand I'm very disappointed in you for breaking the warrior code."

Graystripe sighed regretfully. "Yes, I know. Everyone's treating me like it was my full intention of turning my back against the Clan, and I do so with my head and tail held high, when that's not even close to what I wanted! I didn't want to hurt anybody!"

"Shh," Willowpelt whispered to the crying tom, "It's going to be all right. Your kits are safe here. Nobody hates you. I don't."

Graystripe looked up at her. "How can I repay you?"

"You don't-"

"Yes, I do! You saved my kits' lives back there; I have to make it up to you...I know! I want you to name them."

"Name them?"

"Yes, name them," Graystripe repeated enthusiastically, "You got a good look at them, didn't you?"

"Of course I did."

"Then you can name them. Go ahead."

Willowpelt thought for a moment, picturing her grandkits in her head.

Finally, she answered, "The dark-gray tom will be...Stormkit, because his fur is the color of a storm cloud. And the silver-gray tabby will be...Featherkit, because of her feathery tail."

"Stormkit and Featherkit..." Graystripe breathed, "They're perfect."

He leaned forward and touched noses with his mother. "Thanks again."

Willowpelt licked between his ears. "Of course. Anytime, son."

"By the way," the gray warrior added, "Speckletail said, 'who knows if I haven't already called you an accident'. Do you know what she meant by that?"

Willowpelt tensed. Would she have to tell him about his father?

_No. I won't. How would he be able to take it?_

"Y-You know how Speckletail is," she stuttered, "All snappy and with a temper? She's just trying to put you down. Think nothing of it."

Graystripe stared at her for a moment, and then rose to his paws. "I'm going to go check on _Storm_kit and _Feather_kit. I'll see you around, Willowpelt."

"See you around, Graystripe."

Willowpelt stepped out a dirtplace tunnel, arching her back in a luxurious stretch. So much had happened in the Clan lately.

Tigerclaw was actually proven to be a traitor, thanks to Fireheart. He was exiled from the ThunderClan, and Fireheart was made the deputy in his place.

Though there seemed to be something different about Bluestar. She seemed so...afraid now. Willowpelt figured that she was obviously going through some shock, but this seemed much worse. She never really left her den, as if she couldn't bear to trust anybody in her Clan anymore.

Suddenly, the brambles of the nursery rustled. Two shapes crawled out of the exit. Willowpelt kept low to the shadows, and pricked her ears to hear their voices.

Moonlight shone off their pelts, and Willowpelt instantly recognized Fireheart and Graystripe. Stormkit was dangling from Graystripe's jaws, and Featherkit from Fireheart.

_What are they doing with the kits?_

"Are you sure about this?" Fireheart asked Graystripe around Featherkit's scruff.

Graystripe let out a long sigh. "Does it look like I have a choice? We already have quarrels with RiverClan over Sunningrocks. I don't want more fighting just because these kits are the kits of Crookedstar's daughter. I hate to do this, but they're going to RiverClan."

Willowpelt's eyes widened with shock.

_No!_

"I guess you're right," Fireheart replied reluctantly, "You're doing for the wellbeing of the Clan. I'm proud of you, Graystripe."

"Don't be," Graystripe retorted, "I hate this with all my heart. I don't want to leave my kits, but I have no choice."

Fireheart nodded, and the two cats padded through the exit. Willowpelt waited for a while, to make sure that that her son and his friend didn't know she was there.

Finally, she stepped forward, and followed their scent trails, eventually stopping at Sunningrocks.

She dove behind a bush, and looked out.

Fireheart and Graystripe were sitting on the ThunderClan side of the river, and another cat stood on the RiverClan side.

_Who's that?_

The cat padded onto the stepping stones, and it took Willowpelt a while to recognize her.

_Mistyfoot!_

It was true. Graystripe was going to leave his kits in RiverClan.

Before he handed the kits to the blue-gray she-cat, Graystripe turned Fireheart. "I can't abandon my kits."

Willowpelt felt a surge of relief. Stormkit and Featherkit would be staying in ThunderClan, where they belonged.

The relief was replaced with shock and denial at her son's next words.

"I'm going with them."

_No! No!_

Graystripe picked up Featherkit and Stormkit.

_Come back!_

He let Mistyfoot take Featherkit.

_You don't belong in RiverClan!_

The two cats stepped onto the RiverClan shoreline.

_Please..._

But before Willowpelt could jump out of the bushes and beg her son to come back, he and Mistyfoot had disappeared into the reeds and willows of RiverClan territory.

She would never think of her son the same way ever again.

He was not her precious Clanmate.

But her rival, whom she would one day meet in battle.


	8. Recollection

Willowpelt stared blankly ahead of her. She couldn't believe what she had seen. Heartbeats ago, Graystripe had taken his newborn kits on the other side of the river to RiverClan.

But not only did the kits go to RiverClan, but Graystripe left as well.

_This can't be happening!_

She felt as if she had watched her son drop dead at her paws. Feeling the familiar grief, she did what she always did while grieving for a lost loved one: think of the fondest memories she had of them.

"Another litter. Now, are these ones Whitestorm's?"

Willowpelt stared at Spottedleaf. She was expecting kits again? But whose? Certainly not Whitestorm's.

_At least, not yet._

Willowpelt dug her claws into the ground. Why couldn't Whitestorm be her mate? They never got the chance to be alone together. In fact, ever since she had Darkstripe, the white warrior was more distant from her.

Willowpelt hated every last bit of it.

"N-No," she stuttered, "They're not Whitestorm's."

Spottedleaf blinked. "Then, whose?"

Willowpelt gulped. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

Spottedleaf hung her pretty head. "Oh, no. Don't tell me this is another freak-accident-pregnancy."

"It is," Willowpelt replied, her voice tinged with regret, "And I think this one's worse than the last one. Do you really want to know who the father is?"

Spottedleaf nodded.

"You'll keep your mouth shut about it?"

"Willowpelt, you're my sister," Spottedleaf replied, "If there's any secret you have, I promise I won't say a word about it."

"Okay," Willowpelt took a deep breath, "Patchpelt."

"What about Patchpelt?"

"He's the father."

"Not Patchpelt."

"Yes, Patchpelt."

Spottedleaf stepped back. "But he's our _brother_!"

"All the more reason to love me', he said," Willowpelt cringed, "I guess when you eat catmint, bloodline doesn't matter."

"Catmint?" Spottedleaf echoed, tilting her head, "There's as much catmint in my storage as the last time I counted. Where did you find catmint?"

"In Tallpines," Willowpelt answered, "A little farther from where it usually grows. The wind must've carried the seeds to their current growing place. Patchpelt and I were about to pick some and deliver them to you, but then Patchpelt...Patchpelt got the mouse-brained idea of eating some. He asked me if I wanted some. I refused, and left. The next thing I knew, he came stumbling out of the bushes, all dreamy-eyed and groggy." Willowpelt hesitated.

"Go on," Spottedleaf urged.

"Well, he said how beautiful I looked, and that he wanted to mate with me. He started chasing me, and I ran like a mouse running from a hawk. He...eventually caught me at Sunningrocks, and you can probably figure out what happened next."

"No wonder Patchpelt woke up this morning with a headache," the medicine cat murmured thoughtfully, "I gave him a few poppy seeds, and-"

"Poppy seeds!" Willowpelt snorted, "Just what he needs! As if he wasn't groggy enough!"

"No, Willowpelt, calm down," Spottedleaf tried to soothe her sister, "I just gave him some to fall asleep. He's in the warriors' den now, sleeping like a kit."

The pale-gray queen let her bristling fur lie flat. "Yeah...I guess you're right, Spottedleaf. I'm...I'm going to tell Patchpelt."

"Are you sure you should do that?"

Willowpelt shrugged. "He's bound to find out eventually. Better tell him now than later."

Willowpelt stepped out of the medicine cat's den, and headed to the warriors' den.

She peeked inside.

_There he is._

She instantly recognized the black-and-white pelt and compact body of Patchpelt.

"Uh...P-Patchpelt?"

The older tom let out a groan. "Wha...? Ugh, what is it?"

"Er, can I...can I speak to you?"

"Can't this wait, Willowpelt?" Patchpelt muttered, "I've got a terrible headache, and Spottedleaf told me to get some rest."

"No," she replied sternly, "This is important."

Patchpelt sighed exasperatedly. "Fine. What d'ya want?"

"I can't say it here. We have to leave camp."

"What? Oh, for StarClan's sake..."

Patchpelt staggered to his paws and padded out of the warriors' den and followed Willowpelt through the camp exit.

The elderly tom let out a hiss of pain as he climbed. "StarClan forsaken old bones!"

"Are-Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Patchpelt muttered, "It's just I'm not as young as I once was. I guess having Longpaw made me forget how old I really am. Now that Robinwing's due to have her second her litter with Fuzzypelt, I guess there isn't another she-cat to have kits with. Fathering a new litter just gives me a sense of youth, you know?"

Willowpelt looked at her paws. What Patchpelt didn't know, was that he was going to father another litter.

_A litter created by him and his sister..._

"Patchpelt," Willowpelt began, "About that...tell me, do you remember anything about last night?"

"Last night..." Patchpelt's voice trailed away with thought, "Yeah...I remember us finding some catmint and me eating some...and then a patrol finding us at Sunningrocks for some reason. I don't know, it's real fuzzy."

Willowpelt bit her lip. "There's...there's more to what happened. After you ate the catmint, you must've eaten too much, because you were having the after-effects."

"After-effects?"

"You know, clumsy walk, slurred speech, and dilated pupils? Those things. You...You said some things to me...things that made no sense."

"What kind of things?"

"Well," Willowpelt took a deep breath, "You said I was the prettiest cat in the Clan, and that you wanted to mate with me. I ran away from you, but you tracked me down to Sunningrocks, and-"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Patchpelt interrupted her, shaking his head, "What? Why would I say things like that? It's-It's not like your not pretty, or anything, but...you're my _sister_."

"All the more reason to love me,' you said."

Patchpelt's jaw hung open. He then narrowed his amber eyes. "You know what? No. No, I won't believe it. I did not do those things. You have no proof."

"Yes, I do," Willowpelt retorted, "I'm expecting kits. _Your_ kits, Patchpelt."

Patchpelt's fur stood on end. "No...No! Y-You're lying! How do I know you're not just saying that? You still have no proof!"

"Yes, I do. Ask Spottedleaf. She told me this morning. Face it, Patchpelt. The two of us, both kits of Adderfang and Swiftbreeze, are going to have a litter of kits."

"No!" Patchpelt yowled, "They're not my kits, and they never will be!" he started pacing the floor, "I'll need to find a replacement for these...these..._accidents_."

Willowpelt stared at her brother, horrified. "Replacement? How can you be so heartless?"

"This is the only way!" Patchpelt snarled, "If I am going to father another litter, I have to have a mate who I'm publicly embarrassed to have! You're just my sister, Willowpelt. And those kits will be just my nieces and nephews, and that's final!"

Willowpelt wanted to break down and cry.

_I knew he wouldn't be able to handle this!_

Patchpelt's voice was now raspy and trembling. "Tell me...tell me who can be the mother of the replacement litter."

Willowpelt thought for a moment, and then answered hesitantly, "G...Goldenflower. Yes, Goldenflower. She's had her eye on you for...q-quite a while now. You can have kits with her, if you like."

"Then, it's settled," Patchpelt meowed, "I'll start a relationship with Goldenflower. Eventually, we'll give Longpaw some half-siblings. _Real_ half-siblings."

Without another word, he stormed off into the bushes. Almost instantly after that, another cat stepped out, trembling with fear.

Willowpelt's blue eyes stretched wide with surprise. "Longpaw!" she gasped.

The young, pale tabby gazed up at her. "W-Willowpelt...is it...is it true? Are you expecting Patchpelt's kits?"

Willowpelt hung her head. "You heard, huh?"

"Every word. You know, I don't care what my father says. I'll be their half-brother, no matter what he thinks."

Willowpelt blinked gratefully at the apprentice. "Thank you, Longpaw. That really means a lot to me."

"You're welcome. Would you like me to escort you back to camp?"

"Yes, thank you."

As Longpaw brought Willowpelt back to camp, she thought about her conversation with Patchpelt. She would never think of her brother the same way ever again.

Nor would he think of her the same way, either.

She was sure that they would be even more distant than they used to be. The night before had been the closest they had ever been, and it took intoxication via catmint to do that.

But Willowpelt was sure that no matter what Patchpelt said or claimed or did, these kits would be his, like it or not. She knew that having offspring with a close relative was a health risk to the kits, but right now she didn't care.

All she knew was that she would love this second litter, no matter who their father was.

Finally, several moons later, she gave birth to Graykit.

And Patchpelt and Goldenflower produced a single kit: a black-and-white tom named Swiftkit.

Something tickled Willowpelt's nose, waking her. Graykit's tail brushed her muzzle, twitching as the little tom dreamed.

Letting out a purr of amusement, she gently stroked her son's tail with her paw, and placed it beside him. "Now, where do you think you get that fluffy tail, little one?" she chuckled.

"Morning, Graykit! Are your eyes open yet?"

Sandkit's squeak echoed around the nursery.

The other queens let out groans and sighs and tried to get back to sleep.

"Sandkit, hush!" Brindleface scolded her daughter, "He's only a day old, and I bet you woke him up."

"Yeah..." a little voice mumbled from beside Willowpelt, "woke me up...wanna sleep more..."

_So that's what your voice sounds like._

Dustkit and Ravenkit peeked over Robinwing's rising and falling flank.

"Come on, Graykit," Dustkit begged, "Don't you wanna play?"

"M-Maybe we should let him sleep," Ravenkit murmured, "He'll open his eyes when he's ready. I remember how Sandkit was when she was born."

Dustkit whipped around and spat in his brother's face. "You're no fun! You're so skittish and hesitant; all you do is cower behind Robinwing! I can't believe a little coward like you is my brother!"

"Dustkit, don't be rude," Brindleface muttered, "Ravenkit can't help it if he's more timid than you. Fear isn't something to hate. It makes you more alert."

Dustkit seemed to ignore his dappled, gray sister. He turned away from the little black kit and sat beside Sandkit, who was poking Graykit in the side.

"Please, Graykit," the pale-gray she-kit begged, "Open your eyes, ? Don'cha wanna play?"

"I told you to let him sleep!" Ravenkit raised his tiny voice. It was the first time Willowpelt had heard the young black tom with the white tail-tip and chest flash raise his voice.

"N-No..." Graykit mewled sleepily, wriggling closer to his mother's belly, "Play later...wanna sleep now."

"Just this once?" Sandkit pushed, "Just so we can see what your eyes look like? Then you can go right back to sleep."

Graykit sighed. "'Kay..."

The day-old gray tom stretched open his eyes. He was squinting so much that Willowpelt couldn't tell what color they were.

Suddenly, his eyes widened with surprise. Now Willowpelt could tell the color.

_Amber...like his father..._

Sandkit let out and excited squeak. "Cool, they're amber! Like Dustkit's!" with a more mischievous tone, she added, "Okay, you can go back to sleep now, Graykit."

"No!" Graykit squeaked hastily, "I-I mean...there's so much cool stuff to see. I'm never going back to sleep, ever!"

"I wouldn't count on it," Willowpelt purred.

Graykit whipped around and gazed, wide-eyed, up at Willowpelt.

"Who are you?" he mewed.

"Your mother, of course," Willowpelt replied warmly, "My name is Willowpelt."

"Willowpelt..." Graykit murmured, "'Kay. Hi, Willowpelt!"

"Hello, dear."

"And you remember our names, right?" Sandkit asked Graykit.

The little gray tom narrowed his eyes. "Uh..."

Sandkit rolled her eyes. "Okay, I guess I'll introduce us again. I'm Sandkit," she flicked her tail to Ravenkit, "That's Ravenkit," and to Dustkit, "And that mouse-brain over there is Dustkit."

"I'll show you mouse-brain!" Dustkit squeaked, flicking his tail.

The two kits rolled on the ground, throwing dust into Willowpelt's face.

Ravenkit rolled his green eyes, and he padded up to Graykit. "Never mind them," he mewed, "They're always messing around. I'm surprised they haven't been chased out of the nursery by now," his tail shot up, "Say, you wanna play our favorite game?"

Graykit's eyes shone. "Sure. What's the game?"

Ravenkit pulled out a clump of moss from Willowpelt's nest and rolled it into a ball.

"It's called 'Moss-Toss'," he replied, holding up the ball of Graykit to see.

The black kit turned his head and called to the scuffling wad of orange-and-brown fur. "Hey, you two! Graykit and I are going to play Moss-Toss. Care to join us?"

Sandkit leaped out of her play-fight with her denmate. "Of course!" she squeaked.

Willowpelt watched with a glow of love in her heart as the four kits played. She was glad that Graykit had friends to play with in the nursery. Darkstripe had no friends in the nursery when he was a kit.

"Hello, everyone!"

Longpaw stepped into the nursery with fresh moss and ferns hanging in his mouth. Nursery-cleaning duties, obviously.

"You've got a lot of bedding there, Longpaw," Brindleface meowed to her half-brother.

"There's plenty more where that came from," the pale apprentice mewed proudly, "I was up all night collecting moss and ferns and stuff. I wanted to impress Darkstripe by volunteering to collect new bedding for the nursery. Speaking of Darkstripe, I wonder when that furball's going to come looking for me? But, of course, collecting bedding was just an excuse to visit. What I really wanted to do was visit my new half-brother. Where's Graykit?"

"I'm here!" the long-haired kit called.

Longpaw padded up to Graykit, a purr rumbling in his throat. "Hey there, Graykit. I'm your half-brother, Longpaw. We have the same father, but different mothers. Robinwing's my mother," he gave the brown queen a friendly flick of the tail.

Graykit grunted in understanding. He titled his head, and started creeping over to Longpaw's tail.

"Wow, you have a really long tail!" he squeaked in wonder.

Longpaw let out an embarrassed chuckle. "Yeah...that's where the 'long' part of my name comes from. I guess my warrior name's going to Longtail."

"Longtail! Longtail!" Graykit squeaked playfully, and pawed at his half-brother's tail. Longpaw purred with amusement, and flicked his tail in every direction, making Graykit leap and swipe with his paws at it.

"Go, Graykit!" Sandkit yowled, "Get his tail! Get it!"

"Longpaw!"

The apprentice stiffened at the sound of the loud voice.

Darkstripe came storming into the nursery, his gaze sharp and cold as ice.

"There you are!" he snapped, "I've been looking all over the camp for you! Why are you hiding in the nursery? Have you changed your mind about being a tom and want to become a she-cat?"

"I wasn't hiding!" Longpaw retorted, "I collected moss and ferns last night. I was going to change the queens' bedding for them. Impressed, huh?"

If Darkstripe was impressed with his apprentice, he didn't show it. Instead, his drew his lips in a snarl. "I didn't tell you change the queens' bedding, Longpaw. Disobeying orders like that will get you nowhere in life. Besides, it looks more like you were playing with that pitiful thing down there than change bedding," he flicked his tail in Graykit's direction.

"Don't talk about him like that!" Longpaw defended his kin, "He's your half-brother too, you know."

Graykit stretched his back to look at Darkstripe. "Is your mother Robinwing, too?"

"No, Graykit," Willowpelt answered for her oldest son, "He's my kit, too. You and he have the same mother, but...different fathers."

Graykit nodded at Willowpelt. He turned back to Darkstripe and prodded the silver-striped warrior's paws. "You're paws are really big," he remarked, "Is your name Bigpaws?"

Darkstripe rolled his eyes. "No, it's not-"

"Bigpaws! Bigpaws!"

Ignoring his half-brother, Graykit pounced onto one of Darkstripe's paws, squeaking playfully. Darkstripe hissed and smacked Graykit with his other paw.

The tiny tom yowled as he was flung through the air. He let out a hiss of pain as he hit the ground.

"Graykit!" Willowpelt gasped, and wrapped her tail around the gray-colored scrap of fur.

Dustkit and Ravenkit shrieked and dove behind Robinwing. Brindleface cringed, and Longpaw stared, horrified, and the kit.

Sandkit faced Darkstripe. "Hey! Don't hurt my kin like that, you bug bully!"

Darkstripe lowered his head till his eyes met Sandkit's. He showed his fangs and slid out his claws. Sandkit let out a squeak of terror and scurried to Brindleface.

"Darkstripe!" Willowpelt snapped, "You do not smack your half-brother like that, do you hear me? You could've badly hurt him!"

Darkstripe looked away. "I don't see why you're so surprised. I can't believe that weak scrap of fur is actually my brother." His tone was indifferent.

"I'm serious, Darkstripe," Willowpelt growled, "If you hit Graykit like that again, I'll...I'll..."

"All right! All right!" Darkstripe muttered, "Keep your fur flat. It's not like I'll be socializing with StarClan's little gift to you. How can you love that weakling, anyway?"

"_Weakling?_" Willowpelt grew enraged, "Do you even know his age? Oh, of course you don't. You haven't even spoken with me since you an apprentice!"

"I'm not a naïve little kit anymore, Willowpelt," Darkstripe, "I don't my mother to be the greatest warrior in ThunderClan. I know someone better to look up to," he turned his head to his apprentice, "Come on, Longpaw. Forget the bedding. I'm sure the kits can do it –they have paws."

"I'm not leaving," Longpaw retorted.

"Yes, you are!" Darkstripe snarled, "You're going to be hunting for the elders and clean out their dirt, and you won't eat until I tell you to. Maybe then you'll understand what you did wrong."

_What are you talking about? He did nothing wrong! You, on the other hand..._

Muttering crossly to himself, Longpaw trudged out of the nursery, with Darkstripe following close behind.

Willowpelt gave Graykit some swift licks. "Are you okay, little one?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Willowpelt," the very young tom replied meekly, "That cat –Darkstripe wasn't it? – why was he so mean to me?"

Willowpelt didn't know how to explain. She had never expected her older son to be so harsh to her younger one. She remembered a time when Darkstripe would've played with Graykit the same way Longpaw had, but now, after seeing what he did, Willowpelt wouldn't let him even look at Graykit without her being there.

_I just hope it doesn't happen again._

"Is it time yet?" Graykit asked, jumping up and down and his pelt prickling with excitement.

"Calm down," Willowpelt brushed her tail along her son's flank to steady him, "I just cleaned your pelt. You wouldn't want your handsome gray fur get dirty for your apprentice ceremony, would you?"

Graykit instantly froze and shook his head.

"That's what I thought."

"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here below the Highrock for a Clan meeting!"

Graykit started to tremble with excitement at Bluestar's yowl.

Willowpelt rose to her paws, and she and Graykit joined the rest of the Clan around the Highrock.

"It is time to name a new apprentice of ThunderClan," the Clan leader announced. Her ice-blue eyes met the young gray tom. "Graykit, please step forward."

Willowpelt gave her youngest a swift lick on the ear. "Make me proud," she whispered.

Graykit took a deep breath, and padded to the middle of the clearing.

"Graykit," Bluestar began, "you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day, until you have received your warrior name, you will be known as Graypaw. I ask StarClan to watch over you and guide you until find in your paws the strength and courage of a warrior."

Her gaze swept over the crowd, until it rested on a thick-furred, golden tabby tom with green eyes.

"Lionheart, you are ready to take on an apprentice. You received excellent training from Swiftbreeze, and you have shown yourself to be noble and loyal. You will be the mentor of Graypaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him."

Willowpelt felt a surge of pride as Graypaw touched noses with his new mentor.

_My mother taught Lionheart well...I'm sure he will pass on all his knowledge he got from her to Graypaw._

But it was not to last forever.

The next greenleaf, Lionheart was killed in a battle with ShadowClan.

After that, Graypaw's mentor became Tigerclaw.

The same cat who had changed Darkstripe.

A patrol stepped through the camp entrance, with Frostfur's four kits dangling from their jaws.

Brightkit, the youngest she-kit, wriggled and mewled pitifully in Willowpelt's jaws. Willowpelt silently begged her calm down.

_It's all right, little one. You'll be back with your mother soon._

"My kits! My kits! They're back!"

Frostfur pushed through the crowd of cats and stopped in front of the patrol.

The patrol put the kits down, and the four young ThunderClan ran to their mother as fast as their little legs could carry them.

"Oh, my darlings," Frostfur purred, her voice quivering with joy, "I'm so glad you're safe. That nasty Yellowfang won't hurt you ever again."

"Yellowfang didn't hurt us," Cinderkit, the oldest she-kit mewed, "She saved us. Along with the other ThunderClan cats."

"Hey, Yellowfang's with them!" a cat called from the back of the crowd.

"Why did you bring that traitor back?" Tigerclaw growled, facing the former ShadowClan she-cat.

"She isn't a traitor!" Firepaw defended Yellowfang.

"She killed Spottedleaf!" Longtail justified his friend.

"No, she didn't," Graypaw retorted from beside Willowpelt, "Look behind Spottedleaf's claws. You'll find Clawface's fur, not Yellowfang's."

Willowpelt's heart twisted with pain as Brindleface examined the pretty tortoiseshell's broken body. "He's right!" the tabby queen exclaimed.

"That doesn't mean she didn't help take the kits," Tigerclaw snarled.

"Without Yellowfang," Firepaw began strongly, "we wouldn't have gotten the kits back!"

"He's right," Whitestorm meowed, "Yellowfang is a friend."

Yellowfang stood back, looking flustered.

Bluestar stepped forward, her eyes shining with pride and understanding. "Then I would like Yellowfang to replace Spottedleaf as our medicine cat," she meowed, "if she'll have us," she faced Yellowfang, "With Brokenstar dead and your name cleared, now you do have a choice."

Frostfur's kits scurried around the dark-gray she-cat, begging her to stay.

Yellowfang gave the kits a warm, thankful look before replying to Bluestar request. "ShadowClan is not the Clan I once knew. ThunderClan is my home now. Thank you, Bluestar. I accept."

"I'm glad to hear it," Bluestar replied before facing the patrol, "And where is Ravenpaw?"

"Yes," Tigerclaw rumbled, "where is my apprentice?"

"If you think he was helping Brokenstar, you'd be wrong," Firepaw answered, his voice filled with sorrow, "We found his body on the edge of ShadowClan territory. We think he must've been slain by a patrol."

Willowpelt lowered her head. Though timid, Ravenpaw had great potential to be a warrior, along with his brother, Dustpaw.

"I never said he was a traitor!" Tigerclaw snapped. His amber eyes dulled with grief. "He may have grown into a fine warrior, and his death will be felt by many for a long time to come."

Willowpelt narrowed her eyes at her nephew.

_That's right, Tigerclaw. You never said he was a traitor, but neither did Firepaw. At least, not to the fullest extent._

"We will mourn Ravenpaw tomorrow," Bluestar announced, "First, there's another ceremony that must be attended to. One I know Ravenpaw would've taken pleasure in. Firepaw, Graypaw, you showed great courage tonight. From what Whiestorm's told me, you fought well."

Willowpelt's eyes widened as Bluestar climbed onto the Highrock.

She was sure of it.

_Graypaw and Firepaw are going to be made warriors!_

"I, Bluestar," the blue-gray she-cat began, "leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down upon these two apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I ask you to look down upon them not as apprentices any longer, but full warriors. Graypaw, Firepaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code, and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your lives?"

"I do!" Graypaw replied enthusiastically.

"I do," Firepaw echoed, more soberly.

"Then by the powers of StarClan, I now give you your warrior names. Graypaw, from this moment on, you shall be known as Graystripe. StarClan honors your strength and bravery, and welcomes you as a full warrior of ThunderClan. And you, Firepaw, shall be known from this moment as Fireheart. StarClan honors your bravery strength, and welcomes you as a full warrior of ThunderClan."

"Fireheart! Graystripe! Fireheart! Graystripe!"

Willowpelt's heart swelled with pride as she chanted the names of ThunderClan's newest warriors, more so Graystripe's.

_After that distinctive stripe of his. It makes sense._

Willowpelt dashed through the hoard of cats and met up with her youngest son.

Pressing her muzzle against his, she purred, "Congratulations, Graystripe. Congratulations, my strong, brave warrior. I'm very proud of you."

_"I'm very proud of you."_

Those words echoed in Willowpelt's mind as she continued to gaze blankly ahead of her.

All those sweet, wonderful memories of raising Graystripe from a lively, carefree kit to a strong, noble warrior were for nothing.

For now she would no longer wake up to see her son sleeping soundly in the warriors' den, his body curled into a fluffy, gray tuft, and the dawn sunlight catching on his fur, making it glow.

Instead, she would only see him at Gatherings.

_And would I still be able to talk to him, then?_

Willowpelt dug her claws into the ground. She couldn't take this any longer.

It was just too hard.

Whipping around, she charged blindly into the undergrowth.

_Why me? Oh, StarClan, why me?_

She was so lost in thought, that she didn't realized she had bumped into a cat.

She opened her sorrowful eyes and with a jolt realized that it was Whitestorm.

The white warrior gazed at her, his amber eyes wide. "Willowpelt? What are you doing out here? What's wrong?"

"Everything's changed!" she blurted into Whitestorm's face, "It's not fair!"

Without giving Whitestorm a chance to reply, she blundered past him, and ran deeper into the forest.


	9. Meteor Shower

Willowpelt sat sorrowfully in the sandy hollow. This place was all too familiar.

This was the place where the newest warrior of RiverClan was created.

_How could StarClan let all this happen to me? Have they abandoned me?_

The bushes rustled behind her.

"Willowpelt?"

_Whitestorm..._

The white warrior padded to Willowpelt's side and gazed at her.

"Leave me alone," Willowpelt snapped.

Whitestorm sat down. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong."

_What am I doing? Talking helps with things like this._

"Graystripe is gone," Willowpelt confessed.

"Gone?"

"To RiverClan...he took the kits to RiverClan and went with them. Oh, Whitestorm, what have I done to deserve this? Tell me, what have I done?"

Whitestorm shook his head. "You've done absolutely nothing wrong. You've just been...unlucky, that's all."

"I've lost everything..." Willowpelt whispered, "My parents, my sisters, and my brother are dead, and my oldest brother not even acknowledging me anymore. I was forced to mate with a crazy old badger-head whom I killed while blinded by rage, and the kit we created is so shady, I don't know if I can trust him anymore. My oldest brother ate too much catmint and mated with me, and the cat we created has gone to RiverClan with his kits that I swore to protect. Not only that, but the tom that I have always wanted as my mate doesn't even know how I feel about-" she broke off.

_Mouse-brain! I've said too much._

Whitestorm apparently hadn't heard the last part. He wrapped his tail around Willowpelt and held her close to comfort her. Her fur tingled as it brushed his.

"I know exactly how you feel," Whitestorm murmured, "I was so heartbroken when Snowfur died. I was so young that day, I can barely remember her. All I have left of her now is Bluestar, but she seems so different now that Tigerclaw showed his true colors. I can't believe that he and I were such good friends in our nursery days. And I have a feeling that it was my father that made him change. I never thought I'd say this, but I regret being Thistleclaw's son with every last breath in my body."

Willowpelt gazed at her Clanmate. They were more alike than she thought.

_We're both innocent grievers looking for a place in Clan to serve it in honor of our lost loved ones._

Willowpelt swallowed. She wanted to ask him something that made her worry about his reaction.

_Maybe talking about her will make him feel better about her death. It helped me when Swiftbreeze died._

"Whitestorm?" she prompted, "I know that you might not remember her very well, and this may be hard for you to talk about, but I want to know. What was Snowfur like?"

Whitestorm's mother had died while Swiftbreeze was pregnant with Willowpelt and her littermates.

Whitestorm's eyes clouded. "Her fur was white, like mine, but longer. Her eyes were as blue as a clear sky, and she had distinctive gray ear-tips. Her voice was soft and warm like her thick fur. She was usually calm and kindhearted with a sense of humor, but whenever she was agitated she would let it be known. At least, that's all I know, anyway."

_She seems so nice. I wish I could've met her._

"But, you know what, Willowpelt?" Whitestom continued, "Whenever I'm around you, discussing the usual Clan news, patrolling together, even just sharing the warriors' den, it makes me feel better to live with having a mother who died when I was a very young kit. It's great knowing that no matter what happened to me in my past, I still have a friend."

_A friend...you're more than a friend to me, Whitestorm. You always have been._

"Thank you, Whitestorm," Willowpelt murmured, "That...means a lot to me."

"I want to know something, as well," the pale-furred tom meowed, "That last thing you said, about the tom that you have always wanted as your mate? I know it's probably none of my business, but I want to know. Who is he?"

Willowpelt stiffened. Would this be the moment of truth?

"Because the she-cat who I've always wanted to be my mate, doesn't know how I feel about her, either."

"Who...who is she?"

Whitestorm's sun-baked sand-colored gaze burned into Willowpelt's eyes. "I'm looking at her."

Willowpelt gazed at Whitestorm. She felt as if her heart was going into explode into a radiant, golden light of love and passion.

"Do really mean that?" she murmured.

"Of course," Whitestorm replied, "I don't when I started liking you, Willowpelt, but I think it was sometime during kithood."

Willowpelt had never felt this happy in a long time. Ever the Tawnyspots incident, her life had been shadowed by dark, traumatic memories. Now with Whitestorm loving her, and her loving him back, maybe now she could put the past behind her for good?

She pushed her head under his chin and nuzzled his broad chest. "Oh, Whitestorm...you know the cat that I've always wanted as a mate is you. It always has been."

"But what about when you had Graystripe?" Whitestorm asked doubtfully.

"I said before who his father is. It's...Patchpelt...but it's not like I wanted to mate with my brother. Why in StarClan's name would anyone want to, I don't know. I'll explain about what happened later, okay?"

Whitestorm said nothing, but then shot his gaze up to the night sky. "Willowpelt, look!"

Willowpelt looked up and gazed, wide-eyed at the stars.

_They're falling!_

"Can you believe it?" Whitestorm, who was usually calm and dignified, squeaked like a kit, "I've seen stars fall before, but not this many all at once. Do you think it's a sign from StarClan?"

"Possibly."

"I wonder what they're telling us."

Willowpelt suddenly felt a surge of mischief. She nudged Whitestorm's shoulder and darted away from him, calling out for him to catch her.

Whitestorm's whiskers twitched with amusement, and the older warrior chased his Clanmate around the hollow.

After what felt like moons of playfully running, Whitestorm barged Willowpelt in the side, and the two pale-furred ThunderClan cats rolled around in a play-fight.

_Who'd of guess that we'd be play-fighting after being warriors for many moons?_

Eventually Willowpelt flopped down, exhausted, into a clover patch. Whitestorm purred and flopped down beside her. The white warrior gazed lovingly at her, the moonlight catching his fur, making it glow in a white fire.

His muzzle brushed Willowpelt's cheek. "I love you, Willowpelt."

"I love you, too, Whitestorm," Willowpelt whispered.

Whitestorm blinked lovingly at her. "Do you want to be my mate?"

Willowpelt met his gaze, her heart flittering like a butterfly caught in a spider web. "You have no idea how long I've wanted you to ask me that. Of course I'll be your mate, you stupid furball."

Whitestorm purred with gratitude.

Willowpelt crawled closer to him, getting comfortable in the curve of his body. She placed a paw over his shoulder, and twined her tail with his.

Whitestorm placed a paw over her shoulder, as well, and rasped his tongue over her ears.

_This is perfect. If this is a dream, StarClan, don't wake me._

As the two mates watched the stars dance in the sky until they returned to their usual stillness, Willowpelt couldn't help but fall asleep into the softness of Whitestorm's fur.

Willowpelt padded proudly out of the medicine cat's den, the sunlight catching on her fur, making it shimmer.

_He'll be so pleased. We've been striving for this for days now._

She scanned the camp for her mate, until finally finding him by the fresh-kill pile with Fireheart and Sandstorm.

"Ahem, Whitestorm?" she called, "Can I talk to you?"

The white tom turned around. "Of course you can," he purred, padding to up to her, "What is it?"

Willowpelt took a deep breath, and gazed proudly at her mate, "There're going to be some new warriors in ThunderClan in a few moons, courtesy of you and me."

Whitestorm started to trembe. "You-You mean..."

"That's right, Whitestorm. I'm expecting kits."

Whitestorm pushed his nose into Willowpelt's shoulder. The force of it almost made her fall down. "Oh, this is great!" he yowled with glee, "I'm so glad! Just think of the kits we'll have!"

"Yes. Muscular, handsome white toms with amber eyes, like you."

"Nonsense. Sleek, beautiful very pale-gray she-cats with blue eyes seem much more likely."

"Well, we'll just have to see what StarClan's going to give us, won't we?" Willowpelt purred.

Whitestorm nodded in agreement.

Willowpelt gazed up at the sky, milky with the nearly-approaching dusk. Some of her warrior ancestors were flickering above, slowly growing brighter by the heartbeat.

Willowpelt knew that her life will finally go easy on her. For she knew that Whitestorm would always be by her side, walking beside her, even among the stars.

_And not even StarClan themselves can change that._


	10. Happiness At Last

"Mother! Hey, Mother!"

"Mother, come play!"

"Pleeeaaase, Mother, come play with us!"

Willowpelt chuckled at her kits. "Of course I'll play with you. Would you like me to get your father to join us?"

"Oh, yes, please!" squeaked a brown tabby-and-white kit.

"Okay, Swiftkit. Give me second; I'll go get him."

Willowpelt turned around, ready to go find Whitestorm, when a horrible sound entered her ears.

Behind her, high, shrill screeches exploded out, followed by a stomach-churning, gurgling sound.

She whipped around, and let out a hiss of shock, as she stared, bristling, at the ground.

Her three kits lay dead with deep claw marks in their throats, pooling out blood.

"Swiftkit! Snowkit! Spottedkit! Oh, great StarClan, no..."

Purrs, laced with a dark, triumphant tone, echoed in the distance. Willowpelt's eyes widened with horror as she saw the source.

She recognized the unkempt gray tabby pelt and crazed amber eyes.

"Tawnyspots!" she gasped.

The father of her first kit made a smirk. "Ah, Willowpelt. It's been a long time, has it not?"

"W-What are you doing here?"

Tawnyspots crept closer. "Isn't it obvious?"

And closer.

"I'm here for one thing, and one thing only."

And even closer.

"_Revenge_."

Willowpelt's heart pounded. Tawnyspots's spirit had returned to get revenge on her for not accepting him as her mate and taking his life.

_But that was many moons ago! Wouldn't he have come sooner?_

She unsheathed her claws. "Don't come any closer," she growled, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

"Willowpelt, Willowpelt, Willowpelt," Tawnyspots mewed wistfully, "Playing hard to get, I see. Some things never change."

_"Playing hard to get"? Since when did this involve playing hard to get?_

"But that doesn't matter anymore," Tawnyspots continued, "Because, no matter what, you're going to die with me, dear beloved. We'll walk together among the stars..._forever_."

"Never!" Willowpelt hissed, "Can't you see that that's in the past? I have a mate now –one that I can be happy with," she added, "One that I've wanted all along."

"Oh, yes, Whitestorm," the tabby warrior meowed, his tone confident and unafraid, "Well, we won't have to worry about him. He's already been taken care of."

"W...What?" Willowpelt's whispered, her voice rasped with fear.

A shape formed in the distance, its pale form stained scarlet with blood.

_Whitestorm!_

"No!" Willowpelt wailed, "Oh, Great StarClan, no! What have you done?"

Tawnyspots's eyes glinted. "As I said before, revenge," suddenly his gaze burned her insides like fire, "Your beloved Whitestorm cannot save you now, Willowpelt?" he crouched down, his tail flicking, "Brace yourself for me. Here I come!"

Willowpelt tried to flee, but her paws were planted to the ground, as if they were made of frozen stone.

The weight of the elderly warrior slammed like a fallen tree onto Willowpelt. The breath was knocked out of her as her back made contact with the rock-hard ground, even though she could easily see the springy grass underneath her.

Memories of the horrible encounter with the tabby tom that created Darkstripe flooded back into her mind, along with the mirroring moments with Patchpelt.

_It's all too familiar...Oh, StarClan, help me!_

"This is the end of line, Willowpelt," Tawnyspots snarled hungrily, "Don't worry; it'll be all over soon."

She yowled as his fangs tore through the flesh on her abdomen. He yanked his head in every direction, worsening the wound, and making the blood spill out like a torrential storm of bright-red.

_StarClan, where are you? Help me!_

But she was left alone. Left to me slaughtered by the cat that had ruined her life, so long ago.

"StarClan, if you care one bit about me, get this forsaken monstrosity off me!" she screamed.

"Willowpelt! Willowpelt, wake up!"

The pale queen's head shot up. Her breath crashed out of her lungs, her heart about to explode.

Once she returned to her senses, she realized every cat in the nursery was staring at her.

_Oh, thank StarClan it was just a dream._

"Are you okay, Willowpelt?" Goldenflower mewed, her pale-ginger fur bristling with fear, "You were having some nightmare."

"I..." Willowpelt couldn't explain the horror the nightmare of Tawnyspots caused, "Yeah, I'm fine."

She suddenly felt a horrible pain in her side. The first thing that came to her was the image of Tawnyspots's fangs ripping at her flank.

_I'm not still dreaming, am I?_

At that moment, an old instinct replaced the crazy thought. She knew exactly what was triggering the discomfort.

"Goldenflower! Speckletail! Someone! My kits are coming!"

"Goldenflower!" Speckletail hissed to her daughter, "Get Yellowfang! Quick!" her amber gaze was then shot to the youngest cats in the nursery, "You kits go visit the elders. I'm sure One-eye can tell you a great story of when she was your ages."

"Okay, Speckletail," Bramblekit mewed. He called his tortoiseshell sister, Tawnykit, and uncle, Snowkit, to follow.

Tawnykit instantly rose to her dappled paws, but Snowkit kept staring at an ant with wide blue eyes.

"Snowkit," Speckletail prompted her only living son, "Go with them."

Snowkit seemed to ignore his mother, and continued to stare at the tiny insect.

Speckletail let out a hiss of irritation, and slammed her pale paw onto the ant. Snowkit jumped back, letting out a tiny squeak of surprise.

Speckletail used her paw to meet her eyes with her son's. She flicked her striped tail in the direction of her grandkits as she repeated her order, louder and slower this time.

Snowkit blinked, then replied in his distorted-worded voice, "'Kay, Speckatay." He bounded joined his niece and nephew and followed them outside.

Willowpelt shook her head with confusion. The lively white kit had bounced happily out of the nursery, as if he had done nothing wrong.

_I hope no one in this litter will be as difficult as Snowkit, or...odd._

She winced as another pain clinched her distended belly.

"How long has she been in labor, Goldenflower?" Willowpelt recognized the rasp of Yellowfang.

"Her pains came just now," the queen answered as she escorted the medicine cat into the nursery, "It's about time too."

Yellowfang's apprentice, Cinderpelt, limped behind Yellowfang with strong-smelling herbs in her jaws.

"Well, I should say so," the ragged-face she-cat remarked, her orange eyes locked onto Willowpelt's twitching belly, "You're fatter than an overfed, pregnant kittypet."

"This is no time for jokes!" the laboring queen hissed, missing the calm gentleness of her sister, Spottedleaf.

"Of course, of course," Yellowfang muttered, then turned her head to her apprentice, "You've delivered kits before, Cinderpelt. Why don't you deliver these ones?"

The young, dark-gray she-cat stiffened, her blue eyes flashed, as if some dark memory seeped into her mind like pinesap.

Yellowfang rested her bushy tail over Cinderpelt's lean shoulders. "Relax, would you?" she murmured, "I promise, it won't happen again. I'll monitor you, okay?" her amber gaze sparked with humor as she added, "And if you do something wrong, I'll give your ear a good nip with these scraggly, old teeth. How's that sound?"

Cinderpelt's eyes brightened a bit at Yellowfang's humorous promise. "Okay," she meowed.

She settled herself beside Willowpelt, wrapping her tail around her soft paws. "How're you feeling, Willowpelt?"

"Uncomfortable, but it's nothing new. How many do you think I'll have this time?"

Cinderpelt pressed her paw against Willowpelt's tender flank. "More than one, that's for sure. What do you think, Yellowfang?" she called to the more-experienced medicine cat.

Willowpelt's teeth clenched as Yellowfang pressed a little more forcefully with her paw.

"You're right, Cinderpelt. I guess Willowpelt's finally breaking the trend of single-kit litters I've heard about. She'll probably have two or three kits, maybe four."

Willowpelt closed her eyes in concentration.

_Okay, focus._ She told herself._ You can do this. You can this. You've done this two times before, you can do it again. You just have to focus._

_"Willowpelt..."_

Willowpelt stiffened with surprise at the voice. She opened her eyes, and stared at the cat in front of her.

A she-cat, starlight and frost sparked at her paws, and gleamed in her eyes. She recognized the long, white fur, bright-blue eyes, and distinctive gray ear-tips from stories.

_Are you Snowfur?_

The stranger ran a paw over her ears. _"That's right, little one. You catch on fast."_

Willowpelt stared at the mother of her mate. She hadn't expected her to look so youthful. She must have given birth to Whitestorm slightly over the age Willowpelt was when she had given birth to Darkstripe.

_Oh my...it's truly an honor to meet you, Snowfur._

Snowfur dipped her head. _"Oh, no, the honor's all mine. I'm glad that a strong and smart she-cat like you is bearing my son's kits. He couldn't have chosen better."_

Gratitude flooded through Willowpelt's veins.

_Whitestorm's told me so much about you. You look just like him._

A purr rumbled in Snowfur's throat. _"Well, with my son being so handsome, I'll take that as a compliment._

_It's nothing but that._

Willowpelt liked Snowfur. If only the white warrior was still alive when she and her littermates were born. They could have been good friends.

"Hey, Willowpelt! Snap out of it!"

She jumped at the sound of Yellowfang's hiss.

Her ears hot, Willowpelt turned her gaze to the medicine cat.

"Didn't you hear Cinderpelt?" Yellowfang croaked, "You missed the first push."

"Oh! Uh...s-sorry."

Yellowfang let out an irritable sigh. "That's all right; your body did it for you. It's just going to take a little longer now."

"I-" Her mew was cut off by another sharp pain that raked her flank like claws.

"Don't miss this one this time!" Cinderpelt encouraged her, "Give it a big push!"

_Right._

She took a deep breath, and tightened the muscles in her hindquarters.

_"Try to take deep breaths rather than holding your breath,"_ Snowfur whispered.

Inhaling and exhaling, she continued to push.

A shudder passed through Willowpelt as she felt Cinderpelt slowly pull the kit out.

She watched the medicine cat apprentice nip the kitting sac, letting a gray bundle of fur fall out.

"The first kit has been born!" Yellowfang called, "A tom!"

As Cinderpelt lapped at the little tom's fur, Willowpelt stared at the shade of gray on his coat.

An image of Bluestar appeared in her head.

_Of course he would look like Bluestar. Whitestorm is her nephew. This litter would be Bluestar's kin._

The kit's jaws parted, letting out a shrill squeak of wakefulness. His squeaks faded away as Cinderpelt placed him beside Willowpelt's belly, letting him suckle.

_"Congratulations,"_ Snowfur purred, _"That's one kit down."_

At that instant, another pain shook Willowpelt's body.

"Now, Willowpelt!" Cinderpelt ordered, "Push!"

Willowpelt clenched her teeth as she pushed, waiting for the kit to plop out beside its brother.

But nothing happened.

Yellowfang's eyes flashed with worry. She glanced at Willowpelt. "Try it again," she mewed.

The pale-furred queen followed orders. Still nothing.

Suddenly, something rushed out of Willowpelt's kitting spot. It wasn't a kit, though, but a gush of blood.

More blood spilled out onto the moss, coming out in tiny streams.

_Great StarClan, what's happening?_

Her mind began to buzz and cloud at that second. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Snowfur tense with fear.

Yellowfang quickly turned to her apprentice. "Cinderpelt! Get the raspberry leaves!"

But Cinderpelt was staring blankly ahead of her. Her blue gaze was darkened with horror and grief, as if she was reliving a dark memory that had returned to haunt her.

"Cinderpelt! Now!"

Yellowfang's yowl snapped Cinderpelt back to full conciousness. "Oh-Oh! Um...raspberry leaves...raspberry leaves, yes! Y-Yes, of course, Yellowfang. I'll-I'll get them."

In her jaws, Willowpelt saw the dark-gray she-cat carry a batch of spiky-edged leaves. She felt them brush her muzzle as Cinderpelt placed them beside her mouth.

"Here, Willowpelt," her words were gentle, but her voice was taught, "Eat these. They'll stop the blood from gushing out."

Tentatively, Willowpelt sucked the leaves and chewed. Their fuzzy exterior tickled her throat as she swallowed, and she had to stop herself from coughing.

"One more thing," Cinderpelt continued, grabbing a white flower with a yellow center.

Yellowfang twitched her ears inquisitively. "Chamomile?" she gasped, "Cinderpelt, why did you bring chamomile?"

"She's drifting off," Cinderpelt answered her mentor, "I can see it in her eyes," her blue gaze rested on Willowpelt, "Now eat these ones. They're chamomile flowers. It'll strengthen your heart and clear your mind. Trust me, you'll feel better after you've eaten them. Just please, eat them!"

Willowpelt was taken back by the conviction in the younger she-cat's voice. Not wanting to frighten Cinderpelt anymore, she chewed the chamomile and swallowed.

At that moment, a surge of energy burst through Willowpelt's veins, reaching every last corner of her body. She felt like she could run from Fourtrees and back. Her heart beating steadily and strongly, and her mind focused yet again, she pushed hard on her hindquarters.

She felt the kit plop out.

It fell limply out of the kitting sac after Cinderpelt nipped it.

"The second kit has been born!" Yellowfang announced, "Another tom!"

Cinderpelt lapped at the second tom kit, just as she had done with its brother.

The kit didn't stir.

Cinderpelt lapped at it more fiercely, her eyes flashing.

Still nothing.

Fear pulsed through her. Her newest son wasn't dead, was he?

She felt Snowfur's tail touch her shoulder, and the white warrior craned her neck until she stared at her grandson. She pressed her muzzle to his head and murmured, _"My precious grandson...don't you dare give up now. You have a whole life ahead of you."_

At that moment, the kit twitched and let out a tiny squeak. Relief flowed through Willowpelt. She blinked gratefully at Snowfur as she returned to her spot.

Her gaze flashed from Snowfur's ear-tips to the body of her son. The shades of gray were exactly the same.

She gazed warmly at her son that Snowfur had literally brought back from the dead as he was placed beside his brother.

Another pain gripped Willowpelt.

"I think is the last one," Cinderpelt meowed, placing her paw on her laboring Clanmate's flank, "Come on, Willowpelt, you're doing beautifully. Just give it one more push, as hard as you can!"

Willowpelt sank her claws into the ground as she tightened the muscles in her hindquarters. Cinderpelt's chamomile had given her the strength to force this final kit out in one push, and her body shuddered with relief as she felt it enter the world.

A tiny tortoiseshell-and-white shaped fell out of the kitting sac, reminding Willowpelt painfully of her dead littermates, Spottedleaf and Redtail.

"The third and final kit has been born!" Yellowfang announced, "A she-kit!"

_A she-kit...I finally have a she-kit..._

It didn't take Cinderpelt more than one lick to wake the she-kit up. At about the moment the medicine cat apprentice's muzzle touched her back, she squealed in surprise and for milk.

She squirmed on the moss, following the milk scent of her mother.

Willowpelt's whiskers twitched. She knew that this little she-kit would be the adventurous one.

Suddenly, Snowfur's mist-chilled breath stirred Willowpelt's ear fur.

_"One of those kits will be drowned in a river of grief. But all is not lost for it, for it will find love beside a nettle patch."_

Then Willowpelt felt the StarClan she-cat rasp her tongue lovingly over her head, as if she hadn't whispered the dark omen at all. Willowpelt drank in Snowfur's sweet scent.

_So much like Whitestorm's..._

A breeze made the branches of the nursery tremble, and Snowfur's presence and scent drifted away.

"Willowpelt? Are you all right?"

Whitestorm had entered the nursery.

"Of course I am, you mouse-brain," Willowpelt purred, "Come and meet your kits."

Yellowfang nudged Cinderpelt. "We better leave these five alone."

And at that moment, only Whitestorm, Willowpelt, and their three kits were left in the nursery.

Whitestorm curled up beside Willowpelt, their pale pelts brushing. His amber eyes grew misty as he stared at his sons and daughter.

"They're...beautiful," he murmured.

"What would you like to call them?" Willowpelt asked.

"I don't care, as long as you name. You are an expert in this, after all."

"Oh, all right," Willowpelt purred.

She gazed at her newest litter.

"The blue-gray one will be...Rainkit. The streaks on his pelt remind me of raindrops. And the thick-furred, gray one will be...Sootkit. His fur's the color of soot."

"What about the little tortoiseshell?" Whitestorm stroked his daughter with his thick, white tail.

"She will be...Sorrelkit. Her pelt reminds of the sorrel flower."

"Rainkit, Sootkit, and Sorrelkit," Whitestorm whispered, "Welcome to ThunderClan."

Willowpelt gazed at the sky. It just started to get the milky darkness of dusk.

Flickering above was a single star, it shimmered down in silver-white fire.

_Thank you, Snowfur. I promise to raise these kits in your honor._


	11. Forever Scarred

Willowpelt lay stretched out on her bed of moss. Her three kits' flanks rose and fell as they slept.

As the gray queen grew awake, a scent flooded onto her scent glands. She wrinkled her nose at its reek.

_What...What's that stench? It smells like...like..._

Instantly, she shot up onto her paws. Her heart pounding, Willowpelt bounded to the entrance of the nursery.

"Oh, no..." she whispered in horror as she gazed outside

_I was right! It is fire!_

Bright, blazing, orange flames engulfed the ThunderClan camp in searing heat and foul-smelling smoke.

Willowpelt started to turn, to warn her denmates, when a yowl from Fireheart echoed over the crackle of the burning flames.

"Fire! Get out! Leave the camp! Head for the river!"

Instantly, the queens shot up from their nests, nudging their kits awake.

Sorrelkit lifted her head, her amber eyes sleepy. "What's going on?" she murmured.

Willowpelt gave her daughter's drowsy face a lick. "Something awful, little one. Wake up your brothers, now. We have to leave the camp."

"Leave the camp?" Sorrelkit echoed, her eyes stretched wide, "Why?"

"There's no time for questions!" Willowpelt hissed, "Wake up Sootkit and Rainkit. Hurry!"

"Is everyone awake?" Willowpelt called to the queens.

"Brindleface and I are," Frostfur replied, flicking her tail to her tabby sister.

"My kits are up," Goldenflower added. Bramblekit and Tawnykit were cowering behind their mother's foreleg, their dark-colored bodies trembling.

Willowpelt looked over to Speckletail, waiting for her reply. The pale tabby queen was meowing to her son to wake up.

"Come on, Snowkit, wake up; we have to get out of here."

Snowkit remained curled up asleep, as if he hadn't heard his mother's voice.

_Talk about a heavy sleeper._

Speckletail let out a groan. She leaned forward and picked up Snowkit by his scruff. The little white tom let out a squeak of surprise, fully awake.

"W-Whah happ'neh? Whah happ'neh?"

Willowpelt blinked.

_Or maybe not._

The pale queen flicked her tail, and ran to her kits. Rainkit gazed up at her, his blue eyes wide. "W-Willowpelt?" he mewed, "What's going on?"

"You'll see," Willowpelt replied quickly, "We must find your father. Quick!"

Willowpelt, her kits, and the other queens and kits evacuated the nursery. Willowpelt heard Sorrelkit let out a squeak of terror.

"The camp is dying! The camp is dying!"

A sudden flash of black-and-white passed by Willowpelt, landing at Goldenflower's side. Swiftpaw had come to help his mother.

"Give me Bramblekit," he ordered, "I'll carry him to the river."

"I don't need carrying!" the little tabby protested, "I'm going to be a big, strong warrior, and warriors don't need to be carried by their half-brothers!"

"Would you rather burn to a crisp?" Swiftpaw retorted, and then sighed, "Fine. But if you to start to fall behind call for me, okay?"

"Okay."

Snowkit was still squirming in Speckletail's jaws. The tabby she-cat was trying to calm her youngest son, but to no avail.

At that moment, Whitestorm appeared in front of Willowpelt. "Give me one of the kits," he meowed to his mate.

She nudged Rainkit over to Whitestorm, and picked up Sorrelkit. Frostfur bounded over to the two pale warriors, and picked up Sootkit.

Brindleface broke from the group of queens, calling out the names of her three living kits: Sandstorm, Ashpaw, and Fernpaw.

"Don't panic!" Fireheart yowled from the camp entrance, "Just remain calm! We'll all be safe once we get to the river!"

The Clan began to charge out of the camp, even the elders were moving faster than usual. The confusion and fear for her daughter, who was dangling from her jaws, made Willowpelt's mind whirl.

"Mother!" Sorrelkit squeaked, "It's scary! That stuff is hot and stinky, and it's hard to breathe! Are we all gonna die? I'm too young to die! I don't wanna die!"

"We're not going to die," Willowpelt hissed around Sorrelkit's thick fur, "Just do as Fireheart said and stay calm. Be sure to hold your breath, too."

Willowpelt kept running through the undergrowth, hoping to stay with her Clanmates.

But then she realized a horrible thing.

_They're gone!_

They were separated from the Clanmates, and were surrounded by the intense, relentless flames.

"We _are_ gonna die!" Sorrelkit wailed hopelessly.

Willowpelt quickly placed her daughter on the ground. "Stay, Sorrelkit," she ordered, "Don't move at all," she raised her head and yowled at the top of her aching lungs, "Whitestorm! Whitestorm! Oh, Whitestorm, where are you? Whitestorm!"

"Father!" Sorrelkit started to call for the white warrior as well, "Father, help!"

"Willowpelt! Sorrelkit!"

Willowpelt could just barely here Whitestorm's voice above the crackle of burning branches.

"Whitestorm! Over here!"

Suddenly, Whitestorm crashed out from the fire, the flames barely touching his thick fur, and his eyes burning with ferocity.

Willowpelt quickly grabbed Sorrelkit when Whitestorm grabbed his mate by the scruff. "Come on!" he hissed, "We have to get out of here!"

"Where are Sootkit and Rainkit?" Willowpelt asked, stumbling over burnt undergrowth, and hissing as hot ashes came in contact with her raw pads.

"They're safe. Fireheart's with them."

After what seemed like an eternity and a day, Willowpelt, Whitestorm, and Sorrelkit finally arrived at the river.

Fireheart was standing on the other side of the river.

_What in StarClan's name is he doing over there? That's RiverClan land!_

"Hurry! Get over here!" the ThunderClan deputy yowled to his Clanmates, "RiverClan has offered us shelter from the fire!"

Instantly, Whitestorm charged into the churning water, eventually arriving on the other side.

Willowpelt bunched her muscles, ready to jump in, when Sorrelkit squeaked, "No! No! I don't wanna go into the water! It's all wet and icky!"

"We'll only be in there for a heartbeat," Willowpelt meowed, half to herself, "We just have to get to the other side."

Before her daughter could reply, Willowpelt crashed into the water. The icy water sent a shock wave down Willowpelt's spine. She was starting to get used to the heat of the flames, making the river water feel like an icy blast in the middle of leaf-bare.

The water tugged at her fur, pulling her down, but Willowpelt kept her head up, making sure that Sorrelkit wouldn't gulp in any water.

But it was harder than she had expected. The run through the forest had sapped most of Willowpelt's energy, making it seemed like an even bigger challenge to get to the other bank.

Just when Willowpelt was about to go limp with exhaustion, she felt something grasp her scruff, and carry her out of the churning depths.

At first, she thought it was Whitestorm, but the strength and speed of the cat proved that it had to be a RiverClan cat.

Finally, her body brushed against grass, and she let go of Sorrelkit, who flopped over, trembling with fear and cold.

Willowpelt opened her eyes, and recognized the broad head, long fur, and amber eyes instantly.

"Graystripe..." she rasped, "You...You saved me."

Graystripe quickly rasped his tongue between Willowpelt's ears before meowing, "I had to. I couldn't let you and that kit drown. Come on, let's get to the camp."

Willowpelt was about to say that he had not only saved the life of his mother, but also that of his half-sister, but Graystripe nudged her to her paws before she could say anything.

"I can tell you're exhausted," he murmured, "Lean on my shoulders."

Leaning pitifully on her middle son's broad shoulders, Willowpelt eventually arrived at the RiverClan camp.

Once she took her first step inside, she was instantly welcomed by Whitestorm.

The white warrior nuzzled her cheek, purring loudly. "You're safe. Thank goodness."

Willowpelt placed Sorrelkit on the ground. "Graystripe saved us," she reported, her chest swelling in pride at her son's bravery.

Whitestorm looked over at Graystripe. "Thank you, Graystripe," he meowed, "That was very brave of you."

"Do you really think I had a choice?" Graystripe mewed. He stroked Willowpelt's back with his bushy tail. "I couldn't leave my own mother to drown. What kind of a son would I be if I did that?"

"Mother?" Sorrelkit squeaked with surprise, "You mean Willowpelt's your mother? So that means you're my brother!"

"B-Brother?" Graystripe echoed, blinking at the tiny tortoiseshell.

"Yes, Graystripe," Willowpelt purred, "This is your half-sister, Sorrelkit."

"Oh..." Graystripe gazed at his tortoiseshell sister, affection glowing in his eyes, "It's a relief I saved you, then. No sister of mine is going to die as long as I'm here."

Whitestorm flicked his tail. "Come on, let's get into the camp. Fireheart is checking to make sure everyone's here."

Willowpelt nodded, picked up Sorrelkit, and Graystripe led them into the RiverClan camp.

ThunderClan was huddling in a cluster of fur colors.

Fireheart's flame-colored pelt stood out the most. He was standing in the middle of the crowd.

"Is everyone here?" the deputy yowled to his Clan.

"No!" replied a frightened voice from the back of the crowd; it was Cinderpelt, "I can't find Yellowfang anywhere!"

"And where's Bramblekit?" Goldenflower meowed, then turned her head to her oldest son, "Swiftpaw, Bramblekit was going with you. Where is he?"

"Bramblekit?" Swiftpaw echoed, "Oh, he's right-" The black-and-white apprentice looked behind him, but Bramblekit wasn't there. "Oh, no! He's gone! I thought he behind all the time! I told him to call for me if he lagged behind; I mustn't have heard him! What kind of a brother am I?"

Goldenflower leaned toward Swiftpaw and murmured some comforting words to him.

The tortoiseshell elder Dappletail yowled from the group of elders, "Halftail and Patchpelt aren't here, either."

Fireheart's green eyes flashed. "They must still be in the ravine!"

At the mention of Patchpelt's name, Willowpelt flashed a look at Graystripe. Fear flashed in her son's eyes, but fear for his Clanmates, not for his kin. Even though he knew Swiftpaw and Longtail were his half-brothers, and that they had the same father, Swiftpaw and Longtail had promised not to say who their father was.

Graystripe had no idea that Patchpelt was his father.

"Let me go find them!" Longtail begged Fireheart, "Patchpelt is my..." Longtail quickly shot a look a Willowpelt, "my kin!"

"I'll go too!" Mousefur added, "Halftail is my father! I can't just leave him to burn to death!"

"No," Fireheart meowed, "Longtail, Mousefur, I respect your loyalty to your kin, but I can't endanger any of you. I'll go and find our lost Clanmates. If any of them...are alive, I'll bring them back, I promise."

Fireheart broke from the crowd, and once he reached the entrance, Graystripe flicked his tail to grab the deputy's attention.

"You can at least let _me_ go with you," he meowed.

Fireheart shook his head. "I can't let you. It's too dangerous, Graystripe. Besides, you're a RiverClan cat now. Why should it matter to you?"

"It _does_ matter to me. Please, let me go with you. I want to see what's left of my...ThunderClan's home."

Willowpelt's heart ached when she saw the pain in Graystripe's eyes when he corrected himself. It was obvious he was homesick.

_If you're homesick, then come home. I miss you so much. Why can't you come back to ThunderClan?_

Fireheart sighed. "All right. But it's really up to Crooked-"

"Go ahead, Graystripe," Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy interrupted him, her voice flat. "I realize how important this is to you."

Graystripe dipped his head. "Thank you, Leopardfur."

The two toms instantly padded through the camp entrance, heading for the place that ThunderClan used to call home.

_But it is home. Isn't it?_

"Hey, where's Graystripe going with that ginger cat?"

"I don't know."

Willowpelt turned her head to the voices. Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized the long, dark-gray and silver-gray tabby fur colors.

_Stormkit and Featherkit!_

Willowpelt got to see their eye colors for the first time. Stormkit had amber, while Featherkit had blue. Now one moon old, they looked as strong and healthy as any kit, not the pitiful scraps they were when they were born.

Without thinking, Willowpelt ran over them and started nuzzling them, purring loudly. The kits jumped in surprise. Featherkit stared at Willowpelt with wide eyes, while Stormkit narrowed his eyes defiantly at her.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Willowpelt blinked at them. "Y-You mean you don't recognize me? Not even my scent?"

The kits shook their heads.

"All right, then," Willowpelt sighed, "My name is Willowpelt. I'm-"

"Graystripe's mother?" the kits squeaked in unison.

"Uh, y-yes. Yes, I am," Willowpelt stuttered in surprise.

_I thought they didn't recognize me._

"Wow!" Stormkit mewed, "Graystripe's told us so much about you!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Featherkit mewed, "He's told us good you are at fighting and hunting. And how smart and friendly you are."

"And how you gave us our names!" Stormkit added.

Willowpelt felt flattered. "He's told you that much about me?"

"Yes!"

"Willowpelt?" Featherkit mewed, "Are you gonna stay in RiverClan with us?"

"I'm afraid I can't, little one," Willowpelt replied, her heart aching with regret.

"But we want you to stay!" Stormkit protested, pressing close to Willowpelt, "We won't need Mosspelt to take care of us if you're here. _You_ can take care of us, and play with us. You want that, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Stormkit," Willowpelt murmured, stroking her grandson's back with her tail, "But you don't understand. I have my own-"

"Willowpelt? Who're they?"

Willowpelt recognized the mew of Rainkit. Her youngest litter was sitting two fox-lengths away, staring at their half-niece and half-nephew.

"Oh, Sorrelkit, Sootkit, Rainkit," Willowpelt beckoned them over with her tail, "Come meet Stormkit and Featherkit. They're the son and daughter of your half-brother, Graystripe."

Suddenly, the bushes rustled, telling the return of Fireheart and Graystripe. Willowpelt left her kits to their family reunion, ready to welcome her Clanmates from their struggle through the flames.

But she halted when she saw what had entered.

Fireheart had a twitching, screeching Bramblekit dangling from his jaws. A RiverClan warrior whom Willowpelt did not recognize carried the limp, brown body of Halftail. The tabby elder hadn't survived the fire.

Finally, Graystripe entered, carrying Patchpelt.

Willowpelt held her breath as her older brother was placed onto the ground. She trembled with relief when she saw he was breathing...barely.

Graystripe lifted his head and his gaze locked onto his mother. "I...I think he wants to see you."

Tentatively, Willowpelt padded over to Patchpelt. The black-and-white tom's flanks were heaving, but his breaths were short, shallow, and raspy.

Slowly he opened his eyes. Willowpelt could see that they were already starting to glaze over.

"W...Willow...pelt..." he rasped, so quietly that Willowpelt had to strain her ears to listen, "for...forgive...m-m-me..."

His eyes then closed and his flanks stilled.

Patchpelt was dead.


	12. Never The Same

Willowpelt gazed blankly at the still heap of black-and-white fur that used to be her brother. The last living member of her kin in ThunderClan was dead.

She pushed her nose into his smoke-reeking fur, and gave his forehead a lick.

_Goodbye, brother. May StarClan treat you well._

"Willowpelt?" Graystripe, who was on the other side of Patchpelt's body, mewed, his voice taught and quiet, "What did Patchpelt mean by 'forgive me'? What did he do to you?"

Willowpelt's fur stood on end. Not only was every cat on the island staring at her, Graystripe had asked the question that she had hoped that she would never have to answer.

Finally she let her fur lie flat. She wasn't going to hide anything from her son anymore.

_It's time I told him...before it's too late..._

She quickly flicked her tail at the camp entrance. "Follow me," she hissed.

Graystripe nodded, and the two gray cats crept though the camp entrance, nearing a stream.

Willowpelt wrapped her tail around her paws. She sighed. "I know you've wanted to know who your father is all your life. And I know I've always told you that he had died."

Graystripe's amber eyes clouded. "Uh, yeah. But what does that have to do with Patchpelt asking you to forgive him?"

"I'm going to tell you who your father is."

"O-Okay."

"Your father wasn't dead when you were born."

"He wasn't?" Graystripe's eyes lit up, "You mean he's alive?"

"Not anymore," Willowpelt replied sadly.

The light in her son's eyes died. "What do you mean?"

Willowpelt took a deep breath. "Graystripe, your father is-"

"What's going on?"

Two forms stepped out of the reeds.

"Longtail! Swiftpaw!" Graystripe greeted his half-brothers.

"What are you doing here?" Willowpelt asked the toms.

Swiftpaw flicked an ear. "Sorry if we're being nosy, but we saw you two leave, and we were curious. We…We overheard your conversation."

"You were going to tell Graystripe who our father is," Longtail meowed flatly, his pale-blue eyes dull.

"Yes," Willowpelt looked down at her paws.

Graystripe looked at mentor and apprentice. "You mean you two knew that our father was alive? Longtail and Willowpelt told me he had died. Have you been lying to me all along?"

"Please, don't take it like that, Graystripe. It's true that you've lived in a lie all your life, and I never wanted that, but I was worried that if you knew, you would be too-"

"Just tell me who my father is," Graystripe interrupted her, his voice taught.

Willowpelt flashed a glance at Longtail and Swiftpaw before answering, "Patchpelt is your father, Graystripe."

Graystripe stared blankly at her, his mouth hung open. Then he started to meekly chuckle, "Your-Your kidding, right? Patchpelt can't be my father. He's your brother!"

"No, she's not kidding, Graystripe," Swiftpaw meowed.

Graystripe's chuckled died away. "Y-You can't be serious."

"We _are_ serious," Longtail replied.

"Y-You…no. It's…It's impossible. He's…it's…no…"

Willowpelt pressed against her shocked son. "Oh, my Graystripe…this is why I didn't tell you. I…I didn't want you to think…"

"What's wrong with me?"

"What?"

"There's always something wrong with inbred creatures. I'm inbred, so what's wrong with me?"

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. You're an asset to your Clan. You're the greatest warrior Thunder…RiverClan could ask for," Willowpelt corrected herself, sorrow welling up inside her.

Graystripe didn't answer.

"We'll leave you two alone," Longtail meowed, beckoning Swiftpaw with his signature long tail. He looked over at his gray half-brother. "Are you going to be okay, Graystripe?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," the diluted tom replied flatly.

Longtail blinked at him, before heading back towards the entrance of the RiverClan camp with Swiftpaw.

Once they had left, Graystripe murmured, "You were about to say 'ThunderClan' a little while ago, weren't you?"

Willowpelt stiffened. "Y-Yes. I…I was."

"You know I live with RiverClan now. I have been for several moons."

"But you belong in ThunderClan!" Willowpelt blurted without thinking, "You were born in ThunderClan! You were raised in ThunderClan! You became a warrior in ThunderClan! Your kin lives in ThunderClan! Don't you see? ThunderClan is where you belong, not RiverClan!"

"Not all my kin lives in ThunderClan!" Graystripe snapped, his eyes flashed with pain, "My kits…they need me. And they're all I have left of Silverstream."

"Then bring them to ThunderClan," Willowpelt suggested, "It wouldn't be that hard. Goldenflower had suckled them before you took them to RiverClan; she could do it again."

"It wouldn't be that easy," Graystripe replied, "The reason I took them to RiverClan was because of the violence they were going to throw at ThunderClan if they didn't get them. I didn't want to endanger my-" he hesitated, "ThunderClan."

Willowpelt stared at him. Graystripe still felt loyal to ThunderClan!

"I have no other choice. I have to stay in RiverClan if I want to stay with my kits, and I want that with all my heart. I was torn between ThunderClan and the one cat I loved. I don't want to be torn between ThunderClan and my kits. I'm sorry, but I think it's safe to say that RiverClan is my home now."

Without giving Willowpelt a chance to reply, Graystripe rose to his paws and left for the RiverClan camp, leaving the pale queen alone.

_You're wrong, Graystripe. RiverClan will never be your home._

Willowpelt stared blankly at the other side of the river. Flames still licked relentlessly at the forest where she, her Clanmates, and their ancestors had called home for moons.

The look of the trees reflected her emotions: hopeless and broken.

The reeds rustled behind her. A cat's scent drifted on the breeze. It was Whitestorm.

The white warrior sat next to her and gazed out into the blaze. "Horrible, isn't it?"

"That's not why I'm upset," Willowpelt meowed flatly.

He blinked at her. "You mean you're not upset that our home is being burnt to the ground?"

"That's not what I meant! It's just…I told Graystripe who his father was."

"Didn't you say it was going to stay a secret?"

"Yes, but before Patchpelt died, he had asked me to forgive him. Graystripe had overheard, he got curious, and I…I figured I might as well tell him while I had the chance."

Whitestorm pressed his nose to her ear.

"It's just unfair," Willowpelt continued. "I've lost everything. Now all the kin in my Clan is dead and the rest of them is in another Clan!"

"Not all your kin is dead," Whitestorm pointed out, "Darkstripe is still in ThunderClan. And our kits. And you still have me."

"I know," Willowpelt sighed, pressing close to her mate, "It just isn't the same."

Sorrow flickered in Whitestorm's amber eyes as he looked out into the flames. "I don't think anything will be the same ever again."

Willowpelt couldn't help but agree. She knew they would return to their side of the river, but it wouldn't be the same.

_But the forest won't be the only thing that will never be the same. But it will still grow back. Let's hope that something else will return to the forest besides the plants._


End file.
